Bound By Duty
by xtheGoldenEaglex
Summary: Jaime marries Ned Stark's daughter upon the king's command. Lyarra is a capable lady of the Westerlands and a dutiful wife, but when war breaks out between the Starks and the Lannisters and her family is left broken and divided, the little wolf of Casterly Rock becomes the she-wolf of Winterfell. In a war between wolves and lions, the Queen in the North will rise. Jaime/OC
1. The Union

_**Author's Note:** this is set about a month before the first season. As the majority of the characters are already in the South, many things will have changed. But this chapter is just a wedding with the bedding at the end (making it a M-rated chapter) so not much happens plot-wise. Hope you like it!_

* * *

 **PART I**

 **** _the little wolf of casterly rock_

* * *

 **The Union**

As the little wolf walked through the aisle and towards the alter where he stood, patiently waiting and willing for this day to be over, Jaime imagined that it was Cersei walking towards him, wearing a gown of red and gold instead of the Stark girl's grey and white, her hair gold instead of brown. Had they been Targaryens, that would have been the way. No one would have blinked an eye.

But alas, they were Lannisters, and here they stood, the great Lannister twins, both wed to unwanted spouses.

She was pretty enough, he supposed, this northern wife of his. Small and dainty with grey eyes, brown hair and a heart-shaped face, she had the Stark look without that horrible long face of theirs that made them all look solemn and grumpy. The Stark girl was nothing compared to Cersei, of course. After all, how could a winter rose ever compare to the rising sun?

Lord Stark gave Jaime a fierce glare, filled with so much hatred and disdain that a lesser man might have cowered, which Jaime responded to with a smug smirk as Lord Stark handed over to him his daughter, reciting meaningless words that Jaime had to respond to. He struggled to remember all the vows and the oaths and the empty declarations of love.

He unclasped his wife's Stark cloak and replaced it with a Lannister one of red and gold. Only then, when she stood beside him, did Jaime realise how small the little wolf actually was. Gods be good, the girl was only a head taller than Tyrion. His brother would be delighted! Looking down at Lyarra, Jaime had to bite back a laugh. Not only was she half his age, but King Robert was forcing him to marry a girl who barely reached his shoulders!

The Septon droned on and on and on... Every so often he'd look to Jaime and Lyarra for a response, and as the husband must always speak first, Jaime would struggle to remember what to say and spat out some sort of reply. He equal parts hoped that what he said was correct and hoped that it wasn't, just to humiliate his father a little as payback for agreeing to this horrible match.

 _It must surely be almost finished,_ Jaime mused, glancing around the Sept discretely to cure his boredom. He spotted no one of interest. Anyone important was sitting behind him.

All of a sudden, the Septon stopped speaking and looked expectantly at Jaime, whose eyes were dancing around the Sept. When he caught the Septon's eye, Jaime blurted out, "Do I say something?"

He caught his wife cracking a small smile while most women would be scandalised, just as the Septon was. The poor Septon, Jaime allowed, _I have not given him an easy time today. He must be at his wits end, having to whisper all the responses to me._

Nodding frantically, the Septon muttered while trying to keep his lips as still as possible, "With this kiss..." he trailed off, expecting Jaime to know the rest. He was half-tempted to make the Septon repeat himself and say the full sentence this time, but resisted the urge just so he could get this ordeal over with quicker.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love," Jaime announced, his voice booming through the Sept. The words were strange on his tongue. _Love._ He had only ever loved Cersei. He would only ever love Cersei. Not the Stark child.

 _Child. I am wed to a child._

"With this kiss, I pledge my love," Lyarra repeated, her voice much quieter than his but still audible.

Jaime leaned in as soon as the words had left her mouth and kissed her, taking joy in the little squeak that escaped her lips. How he loved to scandalise the little wolf, even in the short time he had known her. To make things worse for the girl, he slipped his tongue through her lips and licked her teeth, leaving her flushed and appalled as she tore away from him. She glared at Jaime almost as fiercely as her father had early.

It was clear to anyone in attendance that the Lannisters were just as unhappy with this match as the Starks. The only person who seemed to take any pleasure from it was the king, who had organised it all. As he walked out of the Sept with his little wife on his arm, Jaime noticed the sour looks on his sister and father's faces, and then took in the frowns Lord Stark, his wife and his son all wore. _Happy now, Robert? You got your wedding. You got Lord Stark back in the South. You got to humiliate both your good-brother and good-father by showing us who holds the power. Are you happy_ _now_ _, you drunk oaf?_

Already drunk, the king seemed very merry indeed. As soon as he got out of the Sept he started joking with Lord Stark, who was still stony-faced and grumpy. He tore his eyes away from Lord Stark and looked for his sister. He caught her eye for just a moment before she looked away from him, but it was long enough to see the rage in her eyes, the jealousy.

He looked to Cersei and then to the Stark girl he now had to call 'wife.' _What a poor replacement,_ he couldn't help but think. _A pup for a lion_ _ess_ _._

Tywin Lannister had spared no expense for his son's wedding. Nine courses and the finest wine in Westeros – Dornish, of course – was being served, while the guests were entertained with mummer's shows and musicians from all over Westeros and some from Essos. Jaime wondered why his father bothered spending so much on a wedding nobody wanted, but the answer was quite simple. Why did his father do anything really? To show off the Lannister power and wealth.

Jaime allowed his little wife to spew out pleasantries and deal with their guests on her own. He was never good at being polite or holding stupid conversations that were going nowhere. Once all the close relatives had been to their table to offer their congratulations and well-wishes, Jaime decided to drink more wine in silence until he felt drunk enough to speak with the Westerlands lords and ladies. It wasn't often Jaime drank more wine than he was able for, but then again, today was a special occasion, was it not?

He was in the middle of a conversation with Lord Crakehall when he caught Cersei's eye again. She smirked at him before standing up and leaving the hall. He missed entirely what Crakehall was droning on about as he watched his sister leave, hoping that the lust in his eyes wasn't noticeable.

"What a pretty little thing your wife is, my lord. You are most lucky!"

"Indeed. Now, if you would excuse me," Jaime said, rather rudely. If he had to hear his wife being referred to as a 'pretty little thing' or some other variant one more time, he might just fling himself out of a window. Of course, the words were true, his wife was both pretty and little, but hearing the same thing on repeat all night did not do one's sanity any favours.

He struggled to stand up from his seat, and it was a worse struggle to pull back his chair and escape from the high table. He tripped at least twice, though thankfully he never fell and landed on his face, and followed Cersei out the hall.

 _Lucky._ How many times had he been called lucky? What kind of perverted fuck thought that wedding and bedding a child was an achievement? The lords of Westeros were strange sometimes, even to Jaime, who had grown up as a lord's son.

His thoughts were interrupted as he saw a flicker of golden blonde hair at the end of the long hallway. Jaime walked quickly down the hall, past the corner where Cersei had disappeared. He was not disappointed. Cersei was waiting for him, standing beside a door, a seductive smile on her lips. She took his hand and led him inside. It was Father's solar. Father could walk in at any moment...

Jaime didn't care.

Overcome by lust and wine, Jaime wrapped his arms around his sister and began kissed her passionately, tongue and all. His hands roamed her body, from her hair to her breast to her arse... there were very few places left untouched by him. He trailed wet kisses along her neck, unskilled and clumsy though they were, and attempted to hike up her dress and he backed her against a wall.

"Will you think of me as you fuck that Stark girl tonight?" Cersei moaned into his ear as she bit down his ear, making Jaime groan. "When you're between her legs... who will it be Jaime? Me, or that child?"

"You, Cersei," he groaned into her neck, becoming very hard. "It's always been you."

Then, suddenly, Cersei laughed and pushed him away. She pulled down her skirts and straightened them before fixing her hair. She wore a mocking smile on that beautiful face of hers while he could only look confused, her sudden mood change had shocked him into silence.

"You made your bed, Jaime. You chose Lyarra Stark over me. You chose that little girl over the woman you've loved you're entire life! How old is she? I forget. Three-and-ten, is it?" Cersei taunted him.

"Don't be a fool, Cersei! I never chose to marry the Stark girl. The king and father demanded it, you know that," Jaime reminded her, unable to help that his voice had become somewhat pleading.

"You didn't fight them hard enough," Cersei stated. "You never loved me enough."

"Cersei-" Jaime tried, one last time, but was interrupted by more mocking laughter.

"Have fun with the Stark girl, tonight. She'll be the only woman you'll be fucking for a long time," Cersei mocked before she left their father's solar, standing tall and proud, no doubt delighted with herself that she had left him hard and flustered. In her eyes, she had won, and perhaps she had.

Jaime returned to the feast a little redder than before. He caught his wife giving him a curious look, or perhaps it was accusing, but did not pay her any mind. He'd barely spoken a word to her the week before their wedding, why should he start now? They weren't going to like each other. Jaime was harsh and blunt and selfish while Lyarra was polite to point of annoyance, but sweet as well. Jaime had seen it himself. The way she fretted over her brother when he had earned a scratch from the tiltyard, or doted on her younger brother and sisters like they were her own. It was endearing, truly, but Jaime wasn't interested in a delicate little flower from the North. He could only love a lioness like Cersei.

The king, drunk and groping a kitchen maid, stood up shakily and roared, "Time for the bedding!"

He felt Lyarra stiffen beside him. He wasn't looking forward to the bedding either, but it was different for men, he supposed. A girl as young as her wouldn't have had any experience with a man before, while a man his age would be expected to have lain with many women. _Cersei. Only Cersei._ He had sworn himself to Cersei, yet here he was, being carried away to the bed chamber and stripped of his garments, about to fuck his new wife. He caught a glimpse of his wife before the women carried him away from the Great Hall. She too was being stripped of her clothes while her brother – the heir, Robb – slapped away the unwanted hands of lustful men. Jaime almost smiled, remembering how he did the same for Cersei on her wedding night. If only he could have protected her from Robert after. Jaime wondered if Robb Stark was wishing the same.

They were both left in their room, as naked as their nameday. Jaime allowed his eyes to rake over his wife's body, which encouraged little Lyarra to do the same with his. She was thin, but not bony, with soft curves at hips and breasts. Her breasts were small, which was to be expected of a woman who had not yet birthed a child. Her hair covered some of her naked flesh, but not enough to hide her breasts from his eyes.

When he looked up at her eyes, he saw her staring back him, unsure. At least she wasn't trying to uselessly cover herself or cower away from him like he was some kind of rapist.

Wordlessly, Jaime poured them both a goblet of wine, downing his with one gulp. The little wolf was just as quick. A mere few seconds after he emptied his goblet, she had emptied hers. She wiped the red wine dripping from her lips with her thumb and set the goblet on the table, waiting for him to say or do something.

He did not disappoint. "Tell me, how old are you, little wolf?"

Her brows twitched together in bafflement of the question, but she answered nonetheless. "Five-and-ten, my lord."

"Five-and-ten," Jaime repeated, followed by a small scoff as the urge to down another glass of wine hit him. He resisted the urge, knowing that he should be somewhat sober if he didn't want to break the girl in half during the bedding. "Do you know how old I am, Lyarra?"

Again, the girl looked at him in confusion. "No, I don't."

"Thirty-six," Jaime answered bitterly. "Twice your age and then some. Does that disturb you?"

Jaime expected to hear some pretty little lie. _No, my lord. I am honoured to be your lady wife, Ser Jaime, truly!_ When he saw the hesitant look on her face, he began to think of all the responses she could come up with, each more intelligent than the last. With the time she took to think of a reply, Jaime must have thought of at least seven.

"What's done is done," Lyarra admitted. Jaime couldn't hide his surprise. _These northern women are different indeed._ "There's nothing we can do about it now."

Once the surprise faded away, Jaime barked out a laugh. "You're Ned Stark's daughter to the bone, aren't you? No courtesies, no pretty words, just facts. Harsh, true facts."

"Would you prefer I speak with pretty words?" the Stark girl asked him.

He thought for a moment, regarding the girl in front of him with interest and amusement. "No. I don't think I would."

 _But the rest of the world is not so kind. You'd be eaten alive in King's Landing, little wolf. Pray you never see the Red Keep._ Starks were not known for their skill at courtly intrigue. Most of the Starks that had went to King's Landing in the last half a century had perished there. Jaime didn't think Lyarra would be an exception.

"You know what happens next, don't you?" Jaime ended the silence that had came over the two of them, both lost in their own thoughts, by mentioning the task they had both been dreading.

Though worry was etched on her face, Lyarra straightened her back and nodded. "I do."

He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and smiled a somewhat rueful smile. "Well then. Shall we?" Jaime stretched his arm out, gesturing towards the bed.

Dutifully, the Stark girl nodded and walked with him to the bed, lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling as Jaime climbed on top of her. "Relax," he bid her. "It won't be as painful if you relax." He thought his advise would be helpful, but it only made her body tense in response. Jaime let out a small sigh. He was determined to make this as painless as possible. If he was going to have to lie with her, he wasn't going to harm the girl.

His father's words echoed in his head as he looked down at the naked girl lying on his bed. _"You will get a child on the Stark girl, Jaime, I don't care if you have to pin her down on the bed and have your way with her. The future of House Lannister has been in doubt for too long."_ What choice did he have really, in any of this? Yet Jaime felt like he was doing something wrong, something immoral, when he was left with no choice. He pushed the thoughts aside and focused at the task at hand, ignoring the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He had never lain with a woman he didn't love, so Jaime found intimate acts difficult to perform on a girl he had no fondness for. He forced himself to press his lips against Lyarra's neck and then trailed his lips further down her torso, to the area between her breasts to her flat stomach. The little wolf let out a barely audible moan and relaxed under him, telling Jaime that she was no longer quite so uncomfortable.

Jaime's hand slipped between her legs then, parting them further. He slipped a finger inside of her, causing his little wife to gasp in shock and tense beneath him again, but once the discomfort faded, he slipped in another, pumping them in and out of her. He considered pressing his mouth to her cunt, as he had with Cersei many times, but decided against it, believing that such an act would only make Lyarra more uncomfortable. Another moan passed the little wolf's lips as she grew used to his fingers inside of her.

He looked to her for assurance that he was ready. Lyarra gave him a short nod, understanding why there was doubt on his face, and so Jaime positioned his hands on her hips and his cock at her entrance, pushing her legs further apart, before he pushed himself inside of her.

He was slow, gentle and careful, but his little wife still let out a low cry of pain as her maidenhead broke. He felt like a monster for causing her pain and looked down at his wife with worry. Lyarra gave him another small nod of encouragement, so Jaime continued on.

For a time, even when pleasure tried to take over, Jaime forced himself to keep a slow pace as he thrust inside his new wife. As the whimpers grew quieter, Jaime's thrusts became quicker. His wife was tense, her legs wrapped around his waist tightly. Eventually Lyarra grew more relaxed and rested her hands on Jaime's arms. She did not respond to his movements, and laid still on their bed as he pumped in and out of her.

Jaime wished that she could just do something. Move her body with his, arch her back to meet his thrusts... anything! Instead, his wife was lifeless. He tried not to fault her, she was inexperienced, but he still found himself wishing for a more lively partner. Nonetheless, Jaime kept thrusting himself inside of her, his thrusts becoming faster and faster as he started to groan with pleasure.

His grip on Lyarra's hips became tighter as pleasure rose inside of him, his nails digging into her skin. Later, he would regret hurting her so, but for now, he found himself unable to control his movements. As he began to reach his climax, his thrusts became unsteady as his mind became clouded with lust. His body pressed against Lyarra's, both slick with sweat, he felt himself almost collapsing on his little wife as he released his load inside of her.

Jaime tried to regain himself quickly, climbing off his wife's body because he knew that if he fell asleep on top of her he would likely crush a few bones. Exhausted, he climbed into bed, trying to ignore the blood on the sheets where Lyarra lay.

"Get some sleep," Jaime advised her. "I imagine tomorrow will be almost as busy as today."

Lyarra nodded and climbed under the sheets. They tried to keep as much distance between them, both sleeping on the very edge of the bed.

That night, he dreamt of a woman with long golden hair and emerald green eyes, as he always had.


	2. The Ties That Bind

**The Ties That Bind**

Lyarra Stark woke up alone.

She didn't mind. In fact, as she waddled towards the wardrobe, wincing at the aching pain between her legs, Lyarra was thankful that she was alone. She pulled a dress out of her new wardrobe and took off her slip. She only noticed then that there was a warm bucket of water and a cloth set on the table. As naked as the day she was born, Lyarra drenched the cloth in warm water before washing herself with it, giving the most attention to her blood-stained thighs.

Just as she was about to put on her dress, she heard knocking on the door. Startled, she searched for a nightgown or something to cover herself. She found a nightgown in the wardrobe and threw it over herself, shouting for the person to come in.

"Excuse me, my lady." It was only a girl, around Lyarra's age if not a bit older, who stood at the door. Lyarra looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. "Lord Tywin sent me... I am to be your handmaiden."

"My handmaiden?" Lyarra repeated. She never had a handmaiden before. If she ever needed assistance with dressing or doing her hair, she asked her sisters for help. But they wouldn't be with her for long more, so Lyarra sighed and nodded her agreement. "Very well."

"Alright!" the handmaiden chirped and rushed into her room. She picked up the dress Lyarra had put on the bed and undid the laces. When she unfolded Lyarra's clothes, she produced a slip that had been folded with the dress. Once she was finished readying the dress, she looked at Lyarra like she was expecting her to do something. Lyarra shrugged, making the young handmaiden chuckle. "You'll have to take off the nightgown if you expect me to put on your dress, silly!"

"Oh," was all Lyarra said in response. She was tempted to protest and say that she didn't need someone to dress her – she was not a child – but then she remembered how difficult it was to put on her wedding dress, even with the help of handmaidens and her lady mother, so the new Lady Lannister merely nodded and took off her nightgown.

Lyarra wasn't ashamed of her body, nor shy by any means, but for some reason it still felt strange to have someone dress her. At home Lyarra had dressed herself. Her mother was the only woman in Winterfell who had a handmaiden to dress her, and that was because of her status as Lady Stark. Lyarra had survived without a handmaiden for the last fifteen years, yet she knew she wouldn't manage in the South without one.

Rhea had only been gone for a few mere minutes, giving Lyarra some time to herself, when she heard a fierce knocking on the door. Lyarra sighed and placed the quill in her hand back into the ink pot. She had been writing – or _tried_ to write, rather – to her brother Jon. He was all alone in Winterfell with only Greyjoy for company. Her mother had forbidden him from attending her wedding out of spite. Lyarra would never forgive her mother for that, for preventing one of the most important people in her life from being there for her when she needed him most. She missed Jon. She _needed_ Jon.

As soon as Lyarra opened the door, her four younger siblings rushed inside without waiting for an invitation. Lyarra laughed and rolled her eyes fondly. Even though she now bore the name Lannister instead of Stark, Lyarra was glad to see that nothing else had changed just yet.

Bran and Rickon had contented themselves with bouncing on her bed while Sansa marvelled at the grandeur of her sister's bedroom. Arya ran her finger along the two crossed blades decorating Lyarra's wall with a gleam in her eyes. Her younger siblings were enamoured with Casterly Rock and the adventures it had to offer, having so rarely been outside of Winterfell's walls. Save Sansa, they didn't even try to temper their wild excitement. Bran spent his day climbing the towers; Rickon and Arya liked to explore the castle (one day they had come to Lyarra's room covered in filth from the sewers and asked her to clean them up before Mother saw), while Lyarra often found Sansa staring out of her window at the tiltyard as the handsome Lannister men practised.

Lyarra didn't blame them for being so excited and full of wonder. Casterly Rock was magnificent. Had she been younger and less burdened, she would have reacted much the same as her siblings. Even Robb seemed to be enjoying himself, sparring with Lannisters and the knights sworn to them. Her brother planned to compete in the tourney in a few days, which was being held in honour of her marriage to Jaime. Though a wife was supposed to hope for her husband's victory, Lyarra wanted Robb to win. It was his first tourney, and they didn't hold many tourneys in the North.

She shook her head, clearing it of distracting thoughts, and turned her attention to her sister. Sansa was staring at her and fiddling with her fingers, looking unsure.

"What is it, Sansa?" Lyarra prompted, knowing that her sister was doubtful for a reason. No doubt she was going to ask an uncomfortable question. Lyarra braced herself.

"Nothing, sister," Sansa dismissed, giving her older sister a soft smile. She bit her lip and decided that her curiosity outweighed propriety. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I... how was... last night? Mother says it hurts the first time."

Her eyes went wide at Sansa's question, her face becoming a dark shade of red. "I... it does hurt, yes. But Ser Jaime was gentle with me." Lyarra let out a sigh. "I think you should be asking Mother these sort of questions, Sansa. It is not my place to answer them."

"But Mother won't! She says that I am too young," Sansa huffed. "You're only two years older than me, and you're _married_! I don't want to be unprepared."

"Mother didn't speak to me about such things until a few months ago," Lyarra told her younger sister. "All my knowledge came from Theon and his detailed descriptions of his... nightly excursions." Sansa shivered at the thought, a sight that made Lyarra smile. "Don't wish away your childhood, Sansa. Before long you'll be wanting it back."

"Do you want it back?" Sansa asked.

"It's not gone yet. I still feel like a child, really," Lyarra admitted. The thought of being Lady of Casterly Rock frightened her. The thought of being a wife – or a _mother –_ frightened her.

"But you're a wife now!" Sansa exclaimed, laughing as though the very thought of Lyarra still being a child was ridiculous. Lyarra bristled. "You can't be a child! You might be having one soon!"

Lyarra gulped. She wanted children, yes, but not for a long time. Yet it was her duty to give her husband an heir as soon as possible. She nodded thoughtfully. "If the gods are kind," was all she said in response. The conversation had made her uneasy. Had so much truly changed? Just because she was married now, did that make her a grown-up? She had thought that adulthood would feel much different, like a metamorphoses of sorts. But Lyarra still felt the same as she always had.

"Lya! Lya! Will you bring me riding today? Mother said I can't go without an older person and her and Father are too busy," Arya pleaded, interrupting her conversation with Sansa.

Sansa bristled with irritation and clenched her fists by her side. "Arya, can't you see that Lya and I were having a conversation?" Sansa almost growled, attempting to remain civil.

"I would love to go riding with you," Lyarra agreed with a kind smile aimed at her littlest sister, ignoring Sansa's protests. She had no desire to continue that conversation – ever, perhaps.

"Oh, Lya, can I come too?" Bran begged, bouncing off her bed and landing on the floor with his two feet.

Knowing that Arya never minded Bran tagging along, Lyarra ruffled his hair and nodded her consent. "Of course you can. The more the merrier. Will you come too, Sansa?"

"I must refuse, sister. The prince has asked me to go for a walk with him around the courtyard. Another time, perhaps," Sansa refused politely, but Lyarra could see that Sansa was mad at her for allowing Arya to interrupt them. Besides, Sansa had never enjoyed riding. She would only sour the mood by complaining of her sore legs.

Rickon was pouting when Lyarra's eyes landed on him. He had stopped bouncing on her bed and was now standing on it. Lyarra picked him up and spun him around, causing her youngest brother to laugh. She pressed a kiss to his nose.

"You mustn't feel left out, Rickon." She lowered her voice to a whisper as she promised him, "Tomorrow we will play all afternoon. Just you and me. Would you like that?"

"Can Shaggydog play with us too?" Rickon asked hopefully. Lyarra had already succeeded in cheering up her little brother, judging by his wide, happy eyes and the big smile splitting his face in half.

"Of course he can! And Fang can play with us too, if you like?" Lyarra suggested, making Rickon nod enthusiastically. Lyarra chuckled and ruffled his hair again before pressing one last kiss to his nose and putting him down.

"You spoil him," Sansa scolded, echoing their mother.

Lyarra rolled her eyes. "You shouldn't worry about that, Sansa. I won't get to spoil him for much longer after all. Now, will you be a dear and bring him to Mother?"

Displeased at being told what to by her sister – Sansa had an issue with being told what to do by anyone but their mother and father – Sansa shot her sister a glare before taking Rickon's hand and leading him out of Lyarra's room.

 _You cannot say anything. You're the spoilt one,_ Lyarra wanted to yell after her, but contained herself and turned to Arya and Bran, a mischievous smile on her lips.

"We ought to bring the wolves along too, don't you think? It's been far too long since they've had a good stretch."

Arya and Bran nodded, a grin on their lips.

* * *

In preparation for the tourney, Robb had taken to practising in the tiltyard with Casterly Rock's Master-At-Arms. He was matched with southern boys his own age. Though they matched him in skill, Robb was often left disappointed by his training sessions. He missed Jon and Theon. Their style of fighting, especially Jon's, was similar to his. These southerners were too fancy, their movements with a sword too embellished. When Robb fought, he fought with a purpose. No elaborate movements or fancy twirls, just steel and strength.

He was almost finished training for the day. His final opponent, a cousin of Jaime Lannister who was around Robb's age, had been difficult to beat. But alas, the boy now lay on the ground, exhausted and beaten. Robb offered him his hand, but the young Lannister merely glared and sniffed at him, scrambling awkwardly onto his feet before storming off.

"Don't mind Lancel," came a smooth voice from behind him. Robb spun around, confronted with his sister's husband. "He's always been a sore looser. You fight well, Stark. For a green boy."

Robb stiffened at being called a green boy, but nodded his thanks. He couldn't help but feel a great amount of pride at being complimented on his fighting skill byJaime Lannister. Even if he wasn't the most honourable of men – his father's scorn for the Kingslayer had indeed worn off on Robb – Jaime was still one of the best swordsmen in the realm.

"Every man is green once," was Robb's reply.

The Kingslayer raised his chin and observed Robb with interest, the corner of his lip twitching. "Of course, though some green boys become men quicker than others. By your age I was member of the Kingsguard. You're what, five-and-ten?"

"Six-and-ten in a month," Robb answered quickly, standing a little taller.

"Good to know. I must send you a nameday present. We are brothers now, after all," Jaime remarked. His voice was smooth yet mocking. It seemed as though everything he said was some sort of insult. The Kingslayer must have noticed his displeasure at being named his 'brother,' for he slyly asked. "What, does our new kinsmanship displease you?"

"I never said-"

"You don't think that a man such as me is worthy enough for your sister," Jaime summarised, smirking down at the smaller chap condescendingly. "I understand, of course. You forget that I too have a sister. It seems as though no one is good enough for them, truly. You probably wished that her husband would be some honourable northern lad. Perhaps a foot shorter than I."

Robb hesitated, trying to come up with a reply that didn't offend the Kingslayer. "You're right. You weren't the kind of person I wanted my sister to marry. But alas, what's done is done."

Ser Jaime laughed humourlessly. "You Starks echo each other. My dear wife said the same thing last night before I had her lie on her back for me."

"Don't speak about my sister like that–"

"Or you'll what?" Jaime laughed again, this time it was much more mocking. Robb did not regret his outburst. His anger at the Kingslayer's words only grew stronger as Jaime drawled on. "Forgive me for my... vulgar words. If I heard someone speak of my sister in that way, I would react the same. I apologise. But threaten me again, Stark, and it's well within my rights to beat you to a pulp."

"It's also well within my rights to defend my sister," Robb reminded the Kingslayer, still seething. But even though he was still blinded by rage, Robb knew better than to pick a fight with Ser Jaime.

"That it is," Jaime had to agree. "But it's no longer your duty, I fear. That duty falls to her husband now."

"And will you do your duty?" Robb asked the Kingslayer seriously.

Jaime grinned, and just by looking at the grin on his lips Robb knew that he wasn't going to receive a serious answer. "As long as Lyarra performs her duty in the bedchamber..."

"Be frank," Robb interrupted him before he could go any further with his crude comment.

"You are your father's son, aren't you?" Jaime remarked, and Robb unwillingly beamed and stood a little taller. It was Jon who more often got complimented on his similarity to their father. Robb knew it was silly to be jealous of his bastard brother, but he often yearned for comparison to his father. He strived to be honourable, like Ned Stark, and he wanted it to be acknowledged. Jaime let out a sigh and continued, wearing a much more earnest expression, "You may not believe it of me, Stark, but I try to be honourable. I will do my best by your sister."

Doubtful, Robb pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes at the older man. Eventually, he nodded his head and said, "That's all I ask."

"Very well," Jaime replied as he unsheathed the sword from his belt. Robb's eyes flickered between the sword and Jaime, somewhat worried. Jaime saw his face and laughed. "Come now, Stark. Find a sword and show us what Starks are made of."

Needless to say, Robb got his arse handed to him while fighting Jaime Lannister.

* * *

While the rest of the castle was getting ready for the feast that night, Lyarra took the opportunity to sneak away to the kennels. She hadn't seen Fang since the night before her wedding, and she hated herself for leaving her direwolf alone for so long. She wasn't even sure if she'd been fed!

The dogs barked as they heard the door opening, though eventually the barking stopped. Lyarra hoped nobody had heard them. But even if they had, what was the shame of visiting her pet direwolf? For some reason, she had grown ashamed of Fang. Perhaps she was afraid that the southerners would see her with her pet wolf and think her a savage. Lyarra vowed to ignore such thought from now on. Having a direwolf was proof that she was a true Stark. What was the shame in that?

Fang's head lifted at the sound of Lyarra's soft footsteps approaching. Lyarra smiled. Her wolf knew its master. She kneeled in front of Fang and rubbed the back of her ears, causing the direwolf to smile and stick out its tongue.

"I'm sorry I haven't come sooner," Lyarra cooed as her wolf contentedly leaned into her hand. "But I brought meat!" At the mention of food, Lyarra was convinced that Fang perked up even more. She began sniffing. Lyarra laughed. "You smell it, don't you? Well, I won't starve you any longer."

She took out the meat from the small basket and laid it in front of Fang. It was leftover meat from the wedding feast. It would go to waste otherwise, so Lyarra wasn't risking the wrath of Lord Tywin. She got the impression that the Lannisters weren't very fond of having wolves in their home. It made her fear for Fang. What would happen when she and her wolf no longer had the protection of Ned Stark?

Lyarra remembered the day, only a few weeks ago now, when her brothers and Theon came home with a pack of baby direwolves after the execution of a deserter. The largest, grey direwolf had ran over to her as soon she saw Lyarra and launched herself into her arms. Lyarra never chose her direwolf. Fang chose her. She named the wolf 'Fang' because of her rather vicious nature. Even watching the wolf now, Lyarra noted that Fang was savage whenever she was presented with food. No matter how much effort Lyarra put into taming her wolf, Fang would always be wild. It was a strange contrast between master and direwolf. Lyarra had always considered herself to be obedient and gentle in nature, while Fang was the very opposite. All her other siblings had wolves that resembled their personalities. Fang seemed to be Lyarra's polar opposite.

Fang finished her meal quickly and looked up at Lyarra with a satisfied face. Lyarra laughed at her and rubbed her fur. Her wolf's attention was stolen from Lyarra as Fang growled at someone behind her mistress.

Startled by the sudden intruder and fearing the worst, Lyarra turned around immediately. Her shoulders fell with relief when she saw that it was only Jaime. She was amused to find him scared, as horrible as that sounded. It had seemed as though the Young Lion wasn't afraid of anything. Yet here he stood now, frightened by little Fang.

He hid his fear well, with a smug smile and even smugger words. "You Stark women couldn't be like every other woman in Westeros and dote over domesticated dogs. Of course Ned Stark's daughters would have to have beasts for pets."

"Don't call them that," Lyarra chastised, rising to her feet and dusting the dirt from her skirts.

"My apologies," Jaime replied smoothly, still wearing that irritating smirk of his. "I wouldn't want to offend your wolf."

"I'm only afraid she might bite your hand off," Lyarra snapped, disliking his tone and how he was making her out to be crazy.

"Bite my... dear wife, you don't honestly think they can _understand_ me?" Jaime scoffed and gave her a mocking look that only served to make Lyarra feel very small. "And here my father thought you were intelligent. They're animals, Lyarra. They don't understand what I'm saying." He spoke slowly to her, as though she was an imbecile.

"I know that," Lyarra snapped again. "But they have good instincts. Even animals can take your tone as threatening and attack. Don't call me stupid, my lord."

Jaime observed her with an amused expression. Lyarra felt anger rise in her belly. Why had the Gods decided to curse her with such an insufferable husband? He spoke in a low, serious tone as he pledged, "I wouldn't dare."

She could only glare at him in response. It was rare that Lyarra felt lost for words. Her tongue often got her into trouble, and yet here she was now, unable to defend herself in a battle of wits against her sharp-tongued husband.

Sighing, Lyarra looked back at her direwolf, deciding that glaring at her husband would only make her more angry. Fang looked curiously between her and Jaime, as though she was asking them a question. Perhaps she was bewildered by their heated conversation. Lyarra knew that if she willed her to, Fang would attack Jaime without a second thought. Of course, that would not bode well with either of their families and Lyarra wasn't a cold-hearted murderer, but the thought did serve to exhilarate her a little.

"What will happen to her when my family leaves? Will she go with them?" Lyarra asked, staring at her direwolf. She felt Jaime's eyes move to her. For a few moments, he was silent as he stared at his young wife.

"No," Jaime spoke finally. Lyarra snapped her eyes to look at him, happiness dancing in her grey eyes at the promise of her direwolf staying in Casterly Rock. "The wolf can stay. But she won't be allowed to roam around the keep unaccompanied. She can stay in your room, if you wish. So long as she does not come into my room during the night or attack me when I go into yours."

Lyarra nodded eagerly. "I will control her," she promised, smiling at her husband gratefully. "Thank you."

Jaime shifted uncomfortably upon receiving his wife's gratitude and gave an awkward nod. "You may move her to your room tonight. Just make sure she doesn't bite my hand off when I visit you tonight."

 _When I come to take my rights._ Lyarra understood him well enough. She gulped down the lump in her throat and gave him a small smirk. "So long as you avoid using that mocking tone of yours, she won't go near you."

As soon as the insults were brought back into the conversation, Jaime visibly relaxed and smirked down at her. "I'll do my best," he promised jokingly. "Though it will be difficult, I do so enjoy teasing my little wife."

Rolling her eyes, Lyarra agreed, "I know you do."

Her husband's smirk grew. "I think I'll leave you to your... whatever you do with your wolf. I have to get ready for the feast."

She spared him a quick nod which he barely acknowledged, too eager to exit the kennels. Lyarra didn't blame him. There was a foul stench coming from the dogs' stool, though Lyarra figured that it was more than the stench that forced Jaime to leave her so quickly. Was she such terrible company that he could not stand to be in her presence for longer than five minutes? Lyarra did not want to be stuck in a marriage filled with hatred – though she wasn't such a fool to believe that Jaime would love her, she doubted he could love anyone but himself – but how could she improve the relationship between them if he refused to give her the time of day?

' _Till death do we part,_ Lyarra thought dryly. It would be a hard and difficult life indeed if she could not tolerate her husband.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_** _T was honestly blown away by all the reviews and follows and favourites of the last chapter! 100 follows?! You guys are amazing!_ _Another chapter will be posted by next week, I have most of it written already!_

 _The relationship between Jaime and Lyarra is a slow one, but there will be tender moments between them even in the early stages of their romance. I just don't want to rush it, as Jaime is very loyal to Cersei and won't easily leave her for another woman. Let me know what you think!_


	3. Death Comes To Casterly Rock

**Death Comes To Casterly Rock**

The newly-made Lady Lannister sighed and crouched down in front of her wolf. She undid the chains around her paws and allowed Fang to run around the kennel for a bit. Lyarra giggled at the sight of her wolf running in circles and woofing happily.

"Come now, Fang. I want to show you your new room," Lyarra cooed, opening the kennel door and allowing Fang to run out before her.

Given that Fang had been stuck in a confined space for the last week and unable to stretch her legs for much longer than thirty minutes, Lyarra let her run free around the courtyard, only restraining her when there were people approaching. Many people eyed her wolf with barely concealed disdain. Lyarra had to remind herself that their opinion did not matter. She was a Stark of Winterfell – and now a Lannister, wed to their liege lord's heir – she shouldn't have to dance around them to keep them happy. But yet, some insecurity still remained.

Fang had to run up and down each corridor twice before moving along to the next, which meant that reaching her room took longer than she expected. Even after their lengthy walk, Fang was still full of energy. Lyarra wished that she could bring her for a much longer walk, but she had to attend the feast being held in honour of her marriage.

"We'll go for a longer walk tomorrow, I promise," Lyarra swore to her wolf, who tilted her head in response. "I might even ride on horseback and race you. How would you like that?" Her wolf woofed excitedly. Lyarra laughed. "There are times I could swear that you understand what I'm saying."

Rhea arrived in her chambers soon after Lyarra, rushing to get Lyarra into her bright blue dress and tidy her hair. When Rhea attempted to style her hair in a southern style, Lyarra stopped her and decided to do her own hair. She braided two strands of hair and tied them together at the back, allowing her dark brown hair to fall down her back. A northern hairstyle made her feel more comfortable. A southern up-do would only serve to make her feel like a fraud. She was no southern lady, her direwolf proved that, so why should she pretend to be?

Her husband arrived at her doorstep later that night, dressed in a finely embroidered red and gold doublet. Lyarra allowed herself only a moment to admire him before taking the arm he offered her and walking with him towards the hall.

"You look well tonight," Jaime remarked, eyeing her up and down. "Much better than you did at the kennels, covered in hay and dog shit and whatnot."

The little wolf could not help but roll her eyes at Jaime's vulgarity. She must have looked a right state when Jaime found her in the kennels, but there was no dog stool on her dress. "I was not covered in dog shit."

"She swears!" Jaime commented dryly in a loud voice that boomed down the corridor. He made her cursing out to be some great achievement. Lyarra resisted the urge to roll her eyes again lest they fall out of her sockets. "And here I thought you were the perfect little lady."

"What else am I to call it?" Lyarra asked him, a part of her chastising herself for playing along. "Dog stool doesn't sound quite right. Nor does dog waste..." She stopped herself, the image of her mother's face upon hearing their conversation suddenly popped into her head. "I'm going to stop now."

The Kingslayer barked a laugh. "Sometimes speaking more to defend oneself only results in worsening the situation. It's often best to say less. That will be hard for you, of course. I best put that mouth of yours to other, better uses."

Lyarra's jaw fell and her eyes darted towards him, scandalised. He often did this to her, even in the short time she knew him. He loved to make her feel awkward. Stubbornly, Lyarra fixed her expression to one of indifference and stared ahead, but she was unable to keep the red from colouring her face.

They arrived at the feast just before the king and queen. Jaime took his seat beside Tywin and Lyarra sat to his right. Her father sat beside her, with her lady mother at his right-hand side. She was glad of his company and her mother's and brother's. She remembered her wedding the night before and all the idle conversations and, worst of all, the queen's glares. She didn't think she could handle Cersei's glares alone again.

Her younger siblings were absent. Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon would dine alone tonight, accompanied by Septa Mordane. Lord Tyrion, Jaime's brother, sat on Tywin's left while the king and queen sat at the ends of the table, separated by half a dozen others.

The conversation was light and friendly. Lyarra was glad of it, though she still felt the queen's glare upon the side of her head. She had heard that the queen's tongue was sharper than her brother's and much crueller. Lyarra hoped she never got caught in an argument with the queen, having always been a sensitive soul. She didn't like confrontation, nor was she good at it. She could engage in witty batter and verbal sparring matches, but when words became harsh and angry, Lyarra cowered.

When the third course was finished (and Lyarra's stomach felt like it was going to explode, whether from too much soon or the excess amount of wine she was drinking), a young man ran into the Great Hall and handed the king a letter before scurrying off again. All talk died as the king opened the letter with fumbling fingers. As always, the king was drunk. Somehow, he managed to open the letter and read it. When he was finished, he tossed the letter to Lord Tywin and allowed him to read it. The king buried his face in his hands.

"What is it?" Lyarra's father asked worriedly. Usually her father stayed out of other people's business, but there was something about the king's demeanour that had worried him.

"Jon..." the king muttered, lost for words. Lyarra's curiosity was piqued, wondering what could have brought the loud, obnoxious king to silence.

"Jon Arryn is dead," Tywin announced when it was clear the king could not say it. He placed the letter on the table in front of him and looked at her father with steely eyes. "He died in his sleep last night, tended upon by his wife and his maester from the Eyrie."

"I should have been with him," Robert said mournfully, his eyes becoming watery and red. Lyarra looked to her father, whose eyes held tears as well. "He devoted the last twenty years of his life to be my Hand, even though he never wanted to, and I couldn't even be there for him in his last moments! Damn it!" The king knocked his goblet onto the floor, spilling wine onto the ground.

Though the rest of the table was shocked into silence, her father stood and placed his hands on Robert's shoulders. "You couldn't of known! Jon was well and his death was sudden. Don't hate yourself for not being able to predict the future."

The king stared at Ned, both of their faces worn with melancholy at the loss of their shared father-figure. Lyarra had heard many stories of the great Jon Arryn from her father. Ned grew up in the Eyrie with Jon as his foster father. Whenever he spoke of the Lord Hand, it was with a fondness that Lyarra only heard in his voice whenever he spoke of his family.

Fury returned to the king's face. Lyarra heard that people grieved in different ways, it wasn't all sadness and tears. Some people became angry. It seemed as though the king was one of those people as his face twisted with anger and became coloured with red.

"We leave in two days for King's Landing," the king declared, clenching his fists by his side. "Everything – every tourney, feast, _everything –_ that was planned for the next few days is now cancelled. You will come with me."

Her father's eyes flicked towards Lyarra for a split second. Though she wished for her father to stay with her in Casterly Rock a little longer, she forced herself to give a subtle nod and a tiny smile. Her father turned back to the king and answered his command, "I will."

The king grunted his thanks and gave Ned a short nod before storming out of the Great Hall. Those attending the feast rose to their feet as the king left, sharing looks with each other. Everyone who wasn't sat at the head table – or, everyone who wasn't named Stark or Lannister – cleared out of the Hall, the joyous mood of the evening having soured into one of mourning. It was all a mummer's show, of course, a sign of respect for the king. Most of these people never met Jon Arryn. How could they possibly grieve for him?

No words were spoken, a sombre silence coming over the head table. Lyarra caught Jaime and Cersei sharing a worried look.

Though she had never met Jon Arryn, Lyarra grieved for her father. For the brave, honourable man he had spoke so fondly of. She reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze. He offered her a small smile in response.

"Did he give any sign at all that he was unwell?" Ned asked the queen and Ser Jaime, the two people at the table who would have seen him last. "Any at all?"

"None," the queen replied, her voice gentler than usual. "He was as robust as ever when we left the capital."

"Jon Arryn was an old man," Jaime remarked. Even he seemed tempered by the news. "Sickness often strikes the old quick and suddenly. It is a shock, yes, but not unnatural."

Lyarra downed another glass of wine. She had finished her third and her mother was now watching her warily, but Lyarra felt no different, only... lighter. She struggled to seem engaged with the conversation. Her mind was drifting to more interesting topics. She fought the urge to speak insensitive words, knowing that she would regret them come tomorrow. _Alright. Maybe I am a little drunk._

Her father narrowed his eyes at Jaime and sighed. "If you wouldn't mind, my lords, I think I will retire." Her mother rose from her seat when her father did, with Robb following their example mere seconds after.

"Very well," Lord Tywin said. "I will arrange for your departure to King's Landing in four days."

"The king said we would be leaving in two days," her father stated.

"An unrealistic amount of time to ready more than one hundred people and their horses and carriages," Tywin dismissed, giving her father an icy stare that made Lyarra feel uneasy. Her father had never spoken well of Tywin Lannister, and he'd always been described as an intelligent but ruthless man by both songs and men alike. Lyarra found herself frightened by her good-father and wondered how her own father was not. "Four days is a stretch as it is. The king will not remember his own orders come tomorrow morning."

The lion and the wolf stared at each other for quite some time. Lyarra would have expected them to begin shouting if it wasn't for the fact that her father looked so defeated and tired. Her father gave Lord Tywin a nod before bidding them all good-night.

On her fourth goblet, Lyarra reached for the pitcher and poured herself more wine. Just as her fingers curled around the goblet and she was about to lift it from the table, she felt a hand grab her wrist. She looked up at her husband. Jaime shook his head slightly and gently removed her hand from the goblet. Lyarra only stared at him, bewildered by his apparent concern, and placed her hands on her lap.

"I think its time we retire as well. Goodnight," Jaime announced. He offered Lyarra his arm to help her stand, though her legs still shook. She bid them all goodnight before leaving the Great Hall.

* * *

Jaime watched his little wife with amusement dancing in his eyes as she stumbled out of the Great Hall. Even though she was leaning most of her body weight against him, she still couldn't quite manage to walk in a straight line. He felt a little bad for finding her drunkenness amusing. She was young, and had probably never had so much wine available to her, he should be a little more understanding... but a man could not control what he found humourous.

"I never knew you were so fond of wine," Jaime remarked.

"M'not," she slurred, her voice betraying her. Jaime raised an eyebrow. She coughed and repeated herself, "I am not."

He barked a laugh. They were nearing her room now. His wife's room was adjoined to his, for easy access he supposed. He was tempted to leave her – he would not bed her tonight, not when she was too drunk to consent properly, bedding her when she was drunk would make him feel like an old letch – but decided against it. His wife was too drunk to unlace her own boots. He would not leave her alone to sneak out of her rooms and roam the castle in such a state.

"Have dinners with my family driven you to drink, little wife?" Jaime quipped as he opened the door to her bedroom.

"Does someone die at every Lannister dinner?" Lyarra responded, seeming proud of herself for sounding much less drunk this time.

"Not usually, no. But technically he didn't _die_ at the feast. He died three days ago, at King's Landing. We only received word at the feast."

"Details, details," his wife waved her hand dismissively. Jaime laughed again. Lyarra was quite the character while drunk.

He urged her to sit down on the chair by the fire. His wife obeyed and looked up at him through her dark lashes. She didn't even realise the effect she was having on him, the way she made his cock twitch. Cersei had denied him ever since she learned of his betrothal to the Stark girl. He was only a man after all; a man with urges. Lyarra was young and pretty, and Jaime had never seen her look so seductive, even if she didn't mean to be.

"What was he like?" Lyarra asked suddenly.

"Who?" Jaime was on his knees in front of her now. He pushed up her dress so he could see the boot underneath. He gulped. _It's the wine,_ he promised himself, _I've had quite a bit as well._ He had only ever felt his cock stirring like it was now at the sight of Cersei. But here he was, on his knees in front of a girl half his age – _his wife –_ and becoming hard at the sight of a slender, white leg.

"Jon Arryn." He didn't want to talk about Jon Arryn while being seduced by his lady wife's leg, but he humoured her nonetheless.

"He was... dutiful. Whatever Robert asked of him, he did his duty without complaint, even when the king's requests were absolutely ridiculous," Jaime told her. "He was the only person who could talk the king out of doing something stupid. Now he's dead, the king is free to be led by his many vices."

"You don't like the king," Lyarra surmised, watching him carefully as he unlaced her boot.

Jaime looked up at her, a small grin on his lips. Even in the state she was in, Lyarra didn't miss a thing. "You're a sharp girl, aren't you?" She only smiled at him in response. "No, I don't like him. I never have. He shames my sister and spends his days hunting whores and fucking boars. Or is it the other way around?"

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" Jaime had removed both of her boots now, but stayed on his knees in front of her.

"Whenever you start speaking seriously without any smart quips or insults, you have to add one in there to make yourself feel comfortable," Lyarra explained. Jaime didn't like the way she was looking at him. How could she, a girl who had known him for barely two weeks, pretend to understand him?

"You're very drunk," Jaime stated, as if that could erase what she'd said to him. He had no desire to have a heart to heart with Ned Stark's daughter.

She gave him a small, sad smile. "I don't think I'm as drunk as you think I am."

His wife rose to her feet and offered him her hand, helping him to his feet. She tried to walk towards her vanity, but after taking only two steps stumbled and almost fell to the ground. Jaime was behind her, his hands on her waist, catching her before her body could hit the ground.

"Are you so sure about that, little wolf?" Jaime teased, a smirk on his lips.

He steadied her again, though his hands did not leave her waist. Lyarra bit her lower lip and slid her hands along his back, her eyes not leaving his. Jaime swallowed, his resolve shattering. He had sworn to not lie with her tonight, not like this. Yet he found himself glancing at her lips and becoming harder.

Before he could do so himself, Lyarra had pressed her lips against his. Whenever she'd kissed him before, at the wedding when they'd sealed their vows and during the bedding, her lips had responded to his softly, uncertainly, reluctantly. This kiss was anything but, full of passion and heat. Jaime was beginning to think that there was more of her aunt in her than what met the eye.

Ignoring the desire bubbling in his stomach, Jaime pulled away from her and shook his head, "No. I can't. You're drunk."

Lyarra blinked at him. "Why does that matter?"

"Because I'm not some old letch who has to force wine down a woman's throat before she'll fuck him," Jaime stated. His hands still hadn't left her waist, and her hands hadn't left his back.

"You didn't force wine down my throat," Lyarra pointed out.

Frustrated, Jaime let out a sigh before it turned into a small laugh. "No. I did not. You had no problem with downing half of the pitcher all by yourself."

"Exactly." She gave him a wide grin. Jaime felt his resolve crumbling again. "So what's the problem? I want..." She trailed off, distracted and confused, as her eyes shyly darted to the floor.

"What do you want, Lyarra?" Jaime asked, his voice low and husky as he looked down at his wife and licked his lips somewhat nervously. His wife inhaled a short, sharp breath before her eyes flicked up to meet his. Her face was still, but her eyes spoke volumes.

"I want you to..." she stumbled for words before deciding on the most vulgar ones, the ones that would make Jaime lose control. He always did love vulgarity. "I want you to fuck me."

Just like that, his cock controlled his thoughts and the movement of his body. He pressed his lips against his wife, ravishing her with his mouth. _Honour be damned,_ he thought. _For tonight, at least._ His hands undid the laces of her dress expertly and he tugged her dress and slip down her body. They fell to the floor in a pool of silk. Lyarra stepped out of the puddle of cloth and began to undress Jaime. She pulled his shirt over his head and began to fumble at his breeches. When she succeeded in freeing him of his breeches, his little wife took a few moments to eye his cock. She probably hadn't gotten a chance to truly see him last night. He allowed her the few seconds to take him in, knowing that she would never allow herself to act like this while sober.

Once she was finished staring at his cock, Jaime kissed her again and led her to the bed, his arms wrapped around her. They were both naked now, flesh against flesh. He nipped and licked and kissed her neck tenderly, making the little wolf moan and tighten her legs around his hips. Jaime lowered his lips, taking his time to kiss and lick the area between her breasts, her stomach and then her upper thighs, the area just before her cunt.

His eyes flickered up to see Lyarra's face. Though a moaning mess, she was watching him with wary eyes. Jaime merely smirked at her before giving her cunt one short lick. The noise she made – half-way between a moan and a shriek of surprise – almost made him laugh, and he would have, had he not been so focused on the task at hand. He flicked his tongue against her clit and pushed it inside her folds, slowly at first, and then quickened his movements when he thought Lyarra was getting used to the sensation, if only to keep his wife a moaning mess.

With a cry of pleasure, his wife reached her peak and clenched her legs together. Jaime took his mouth away from her cunt and replaced it with his fingers, rubbing at her most sensitive spot. He kissed her, the feeling of her wetness making him very hard.

" _Jaime_ ," his wife moaned against his lips, her hand grabbing at his hair.

He couldn't resist anymore. Jaime pushed his cock inside of her slowly, allowing her to adjust to the size of him before he began thrusting into her, his pace slow at first. His body hovered over hers. He supported himself by placing his hands on the bed as his thrusts became faster.

Jaime felt his wife's hand on his back, her legs wrapped around his hips. He felt her tug his body to the side and looked at her in alarm, thinking that she wanted him to stop, but received a smirk in response. He allowed her to push him onto the bed, his back against the sheets, as she sat on top of him, his cock still inside of her. Jaime grinned at her and placed his hands on her arse. She mounted him, straight-backed and grinning. She rolled her hips against him, maintaining a slow pace at first. Jaime found he liked the tenderness of their couplings. With Cersei, sex was passionate, but it was rushed. They knew how to satisfy each other and never took the time to explore their bodies. He liked being tender and slow with Lyarra, and that surprised even him.

He noticed Lyarra becoming breathless and her movements became staggered as pleasure overcame her. Jaime used his hands on her arse to help her bounce on top of him, though he found it difficult to maintain rhythm as he came closer to his peak. Lyarra rested on hand on his chest and another on the bed as the pace became quicker. Jaime thrust himself further inside of her, meeting her rocking hips with his own.

His hands trailed up her body, resting on her breasts and circling her nipples with his fingers as his wife's moans became louder and louder. Jaime was ready to release himself inside of her, but he wanted Lyarra to reach her peak the same time as him so he was doing everything he could to bring her pleasure. He brought her body closer to his, her breasts pressing against his chest, and felt her teeth graze against his neck, nipping and biting. Jaime groaned. He was truly married to wolf.

"Fuck," Jaime grunted as he reached his climax, filling Lyarra with his seed.

Almost at the same time, Lyarra moaned his name into his neck – _"oh, Jaime, oh!" –_ as she came atop of him. She rolled off of Jaime and fell into bed, breathing as heavily as he was and flushed red.

Jaime turned to look at her and, still gasping for breath, found the energy to chuckle. "It seems as though Ned Stark sent me a wolf instead of a wife." Lost for words, Lyarra merely narrowed her eyes at him, but grinned nonetheless. "Not that I'm complaining. I quite like this wild little wolf of mine. Did you like that, Lyarra?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

Smirking, Jaime answered vulgarly, "Fucking me. Was it enjoyable?"

Lyarra sighed in frustration and stared up at the ceiling. "I'd say yes but I don't want to stroke your ego."

"That's alright," Jaime responded, wearing a smirk. "As long as your willing to stroke something else." His eyes flickered downwards towards his cock. When he looked at his wife again, she was staring back at him, scandalised.

"You're terrible," Lyarra observed.

He merely grinned. "I know." Out of nowhere, Jaime heard a wolf. He jumped up into a sitting position and looked around the room, feeling incredibly stupid when he saw his wife's pet direwolf. The beast still unnerved him. There was something about the wolf's eyes that made him feel guilty. Fang was looking at him – glaring, actually, Jaime thought – rather accusingly, as though the wolf was angry at him for bedding her mistress. "Was the wolf watching us the whole time?"

It was Lyarra's turn to be amused. She chuckled at him. "Are you afraid of scarring her?"

"No, of course not," Jaime answered, getting back into bed and pulling the sheets over him. Lyarra followed suit. "I just... never mind."

"No, what is it?" Lyarra urged, wearing a teasing smirk.

Jaime sighed. "Do you not think she looks a little... angry? It's unnerving."

"You're an unfamiliar face, that's all," Lyarra assured him. "She'll warm up to you soon enough."

He nodded, still watching the wolf carefully. The look the direwolf had given him made him feel nervous, and ashamed for some reason. His anxiousness was only soothed when the wolf lowered her head and shut her eyes, going to sleep.

Jaime was about to start speaking to Lyarra again when he heard her quiet snoring. Allowing a small smile to rest on his lips, Jaime blew out the candle and went to sleep.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_** _I've decided that Jaime is a little too fond of dirty jokes. I sometimes worry that he's out of character, but I suppose it is fanfiction._


	4. A Promise To Dread

**A Promise To Dread**

When Lyarra woke that morning, she found herself trapped by her husband's arms. Her cheeks became red and hot. Even when she slept with her sisters, Lyarra always did love to cuddle. Obviously sharing a bed with her husband was no different, only that Lyarra felt no barrier of cloth between them. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, her... lower parts were pressed against his hip. Even worse, she hadn't cleaned herself from the night before, so the sticky liquid still stained the area between her thighs and was now staining Jaime's leg. Horrified, Lyarra struggled to break free from Jaime's arms. She even felt his hold on her becoming tighter. When she looked up at her husband, she saw him smirking down at her.

"Leaving so soon?" he drawled sleepily, his eyes only slightly open.

"I have to feed Fang," she lied. Well, it was true. She did need to feed her direwolf, but what she really needed to do was clean herself up so that she didn't feel so disgusting.

"You take good care of that wolf," Jaime observed. "Will you take care of me as well?"

"What do you m– oh!"

As though she weighed nothing, Jaime practically threw her on top of him. She was straddling him, his cock pressing against her bum. Lyarra's face grew even hotter as she felt his erection against her. She remembered her wantonness the night before and almost cringed in shame. She knew that wine changed people, but she never thought that it could make her so... _needy_. Yes, that was the word. All the other words that popped into her head were far too improper.

"Oh, come now. You weren't shy at all last night. I quite enjoyed seeing the wolf in you emerge," Jaime gave her a wide grin and placed a hand on her arse cheek, giving it a squeeze. Lyarra moaned, unable to help herself. "You did too, if I recall correctly. I believe half of the keep heard you screaming my name. _Jaime – oh, oh Jaime!_ "

"Stop it!" Lyarra scolded and smacked his shoulder, not roughly, though she couldn't help but laugh at the way his voice became so high-pitched when he tried to imitate her. Jaime ran his hands up her back and lowered her body so that theirs were pressing against each others.

"There's no shame in enjoying being fucked by your husband," Jaime whispered huskily into her ear. Lyarra felt his hot breath on her cheek and a stirring in her lower stomach at the same time. Jaime slipped his hand between her legs, feeling how wet she was, and let out a low chuckle. "You're eager, aren't you?"

Feeling bold, Lyarra began to grind herself against his cock without letting him inside of her. Wide-eyed and shocked, Jaime let out a low groan and threw back his head in pleasure. His fingers struggled to continue to work at her cunt as Lyarra continued to roll her hips against him.

She smirked down at him, ignoring the desperation growing within her to be filled by him, and continued to tease Jaime. His hands were on her hips, encouraging her to go faster. The slickness between her thighs was making his lower stomach wet. The sight aroused her in a sick sort of way. Lyarra knew that she wouldn't be able to last any longer.

Before she could put him inside of her, Jaime had threw her onto the bed, climbing on top of her. He grinned down at her, his fingers still pressing down at that pleasure spot between her legs that sent a brilliant feeling through her entire body. Jaime trapped her mouth with a kiss. Lyarra moaned against his lips, clenching her legs against him, as Jaime pushed himself inside of her.

Lyarra gasped at the sudden intrusion, but felt no pain whatsoever, only pleasure. Immense pleasure. Unlike the first time Jaime had taken her, Lyarra was responsive to his touch. She rolled her hips to match his thrusts, encouraging him to go faster and faster. Her legs were wrapped around him, pushing him further within her.

Jaime's thrusts became quick and rough. Lyarra found the roughness pleasurable. She clamped her mouth down onto his shoulder to quieten her moans. The castle was awake and Lyarra didn't want the servants to hear their new lady being ravished by their lord.

They were both reaching their climax quickly. Jaime's movements were becoming uncontrolled and desperate. Lyarra's breathing became faster, her moans louder, as Jaime grunted and groaned. He was so much larger than her, his entire body could cover hers. Lyarra thought that if he wasn't holding himself up that his body weight might crush her.

She allowed her hands to roam his body. His muscled arms and back and stomach, his soft, golden hair... Lyarra touched every inch of skin that she could and nipped at his neck, remembering how he seemed to like it when she did that last night. She was right, and Jaime gave one last groan, one last deep thrust, as he emptied himself inside of her. His thrusts became slower after he climaxed. He was exhausted, his fingers working at her cunt tirelessly so that she could climax too. Lyarra finished with a moan.

Her husband rolled off of her, breathing heavily as they both laid side by side, staring up at the ceiling. Lyarra recovered quicker than Jaime, and forced herself out of bed and threw a nightgown over herself. She washed between her legs before dressing herself without the need of a handmaiden. She pulled two sides of her hair back loosely, allowing the rest of her hair to cascade down her back.

When she turned around, she found Jaime watching her closely. "How can you be like that in bed and go back to be being so prim and proper? I'll never understand women and their multiple personalities."

"And how would you have me act? It's not like I can stay in here all day, waiting to be ravished," Lyarra replied, sitting at the end of the bed.

Jaime barked a laugh. "Ravished? Yes, I suppose that's quite a suitable word. And what a tempting proposal. It would make my father happy, I'm sure."

"Your father?" Lyarra repeated, face marred with confusion.

With a sigh, Jaime went on to explain himself. "My father has commanded me to sire an heir, by any means necessary. You understand what that means?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew that it was well within a man's rights to take his wife by force if she was not willing to do her duty. But Jaime had been so respectful and gentle with her so far. Lyarra didn't think he was capable of such a deed.

Unable to conjure a response, Lyarra merely nodded. Jaime sighed again and continued speaking. "I thought... I thought that I could... make myself do that. But last night, when you were drunk, I wasn't able... it wasn't honourable of me to take you when you were in such a state."

"I remember everything that happened last night," Lyarra assured him. "My head is clear now. The wine made me bold, yes, but it did not take away my senses. When I told you to... I meant it."

He tried not to show it, but Lyarra could see that her reassurance meant a lot to him. "When I first joined the Kingsguard, I had to stand outside the Mad King's chambers while he raped his wife. I heard her cries, her begging... and I couldn't do a thing. I may not be as honourable as your father, but I try to do the right thing."

"I understand," Lyarra replied, seeing that it was paining him to speak about his past.

"No, I don't think you do."

"I do," she said again, this time more firmly, and gave him a kind smile. "And I think you're more honourable than you give yourself credit for."

* * *

"It's such a pity about the tourney," Sansa sighed dreamily. She had been so excited to see some of the finest knights of Westeros in action – _and the most handsome_ , she added to her thoughts. She had seen Ser Loras Tyrell at Lya's wedding, and Gods was he beautiful! She had hoped he would wear her favour during the joust... he certainly wouldn't now! As insensitive as it was, Sansa found herself wishing again that Lord Arryn had waited another week before he passed away.

"Yes, it is," her mother agreed, "but you mustn't say such things, Sansa. The king and your father are in mourning. It's of ill manners to seem more preoccupied with the tourney being cancelled."

Catelyn's eyes never left the needlework on her lap. Sansa admired her mother's talents and the way Catelyn seemed to loose herself while she stitched. She was making a dress for Lya, a late wedding gift. Sansa thought that Lya had received enough for her wedding. From Mother and Father she received a beautiful necklace, far prettier than anything Sansa had ever seen before.

 _Of course Lya gets everything,_ Sansa thought resentfully. She got the wonderful, handsome, southern husband and the large keep and the title of Lady Lannister. Lya wasn't even that good at being a lady, but Sansa was! Their mother always said that Sansa was born to be a fine lady. Lya was kind and sweet, yes, and she would make a brilliant mother someday, but she didn't have the skills needed to be a fine southern lady.

Sansa bristled at her mother's disapproval, but forced a courteous smile on her lips. "Of course not, Mother. I will not say such things outside this room."

"Good girl," her mother approved, giving her a warm smile. The smile faltered suddenly as a thought seemed to worm its way inside Catelyn's head. "Sansa, dear, there's something that you ought to know."

"Oh?" Sansa encouraged, excited. It was rare that anyone told her anything. Usually she'd have to hear it from Robb or Lya first.

"It can't leave this room. You must promise me that. Your father and the king have not agreed on anything yet," Catelyn lectured, giving Sansa a scolding look even though she hadn't done anything.

Sansa's knee was bouncing up and down with excitement underneath her skirts. She tried to restrain herself and act ladylike and mature, but she was ever so excited to find out what the king and father were discussing. She nodded vehemently. "I won't tell a soul, Mother! I promise!"

"Very well," her mother said, sounding doubtful. Sansa feared that her mother might change her mind and not tell her a thing. Thankfully, that didn't happen. "The king has asked your father to become his Hand and go south with him, to King's Landing."

"Why, that's great news!" Sansa chirped, clapping her hands together. "Can I go too?"

"Sansa..."

"Oh, Mother, please, let me go! I've always wanted to go to King's Landing and be among the fine ladies of court and there shall be knights too, just like the songs!" Sansa begged. She could picture it now, dancing with Ser Loras Tyrell... and there might be even more handsome men at court!

"Sansa, let me finish," Catelyn scolded. Sansa shrunk under her mother's disapproving eyes and nodded meekly. "The king has also asked your father for something else. He thinks that we ought to join our houses. He wants to marry you to the crown prince."

She could scarce believe her ears. _Prince Joffrey?!_ A grin spread across her lips, joy and disbelief shining in her beautiful blue eyes. She covered her mouth with her hand as a breathy sigh escaped her lips. She would be a princess! She would someday be queen! Sansa would be of higher rank than Lyarra. What's a mere lady to a queen, after all?

"Oh, Father must say yes!" Sansa declared. "He would be the second most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms and I would be queen! How could he refuse?"

Her mother sighed. "Oh, Sansa, sweetling. I don't think you understand. It would mean that you would live in Winterfell again. You'd be away from your family. You'd be away from me."

"I understand all that, Mother," Sansa replied, a little too harshly. Seeing her mother's wounded expression, Sansa set her needlework aside and lowered herself onto her knees before her mother, clasping Catelyn's hands in her own. "I hope you haven't misunderstood me. I will miss you and my brothers... and Arya too, I suppose. But I will be queen someday! And I'll have Father and even Lyarra won't be too far from the capital. Oh please, Mother! It's the only thing I've ever wanted!"

"You're so young," Catelyn had tears in her eyes as she looked down at Sansa.

"I'm only two years younger than Robb and Lya. And the prince and I are closer in age than Lyarra and Ser Jaime," Sansa reassured her. "Please, Mother! Talk to Father. It would make me so happy!"

She had won her mother over. Catelyn smiled sadly and cupped Sansa's face in her hands. "Alright. I'll see what I can do. I'll talk to your father, but I make no promises."

"Oh, thank you, Mother! That's all I ask!" Sansa wrapped her arms around her mother and kissed her cheek.

 _I shall be queen!_ For Sansa knew that her father could not refuse his wife and daughters anything.

* * *

The halls of Casterly Rock were decorated by banners of lions and the portraits of its lords and ladies. Ned found himself stopping to admire each painting, a welcome delay to the conversation he was going to have with the king. When Robert summoned him an hour ago, Ned knew exactly what his old friend wanted to speak of.

Ned had no desire to be Hand. There were plenty of men in Westeros – plenty of men in Casterly Rock alone – that would be much more qualified. But those men weren't loyal to Robert, only to themselves and their houses.

 _You can always say no, Ned._

But how could he, when only last night his wife received a letter which implied that the Lannisters killed Jon? Catelyn had said that he didn't have to become Robert's Hand, but what other choice was there? Let his friend be surrounded by the vultures that had killed their foster father?

"Lord Stark!" a voice called and Ned heard footsteps approaching him. He turned his head towards the source, recognising Jaime only because of the brightness of his gold hair. The corridor was dimly lit by his lantern and the sun had set a while ago, though he could make out the grin on Jaime's lip. "Or should I call you father now?"

"Lord Stark will do fine," Ned replied grimly, frowning at his new goodson.

"It's a pity, really, that you're so determined to keep our houses at odds with each other. I thought that my marriage to your daughter might encourage you to look at the possibilities. Do you detest us so much, _Lord Stark_?" Jaime drawled, leaning against the wall lazily.

"Detest is strong word," Ned admitted. "But it will take much more than a marriage between our two houses before I trust a Lannister."

"Forgive me, but isn't your own daughter now a Lannister?" Jaime reminded him, playing stupid. Gods, the Kingslayer's voice had always irked him. He was so cocksure and arrogant. "Do you distrust her too?"

"You must think me a very harsh man. How could I distrust Lyarra for obeying the king's commands?"

"Yet you look down on me for doing the same," Jaime quipped back. The grin was gone from his face. Ned didn't say anything in response and merely pressed his lips together, frowning. The Kingslayer let out a humourless laugh. "I never wanted a wife or children. Some men are made for such a life, I was not. But just like your daughter, I obeyed the king and my father and married. You understand that, don't you, Lord Stark? That I take as much pleasure from this marriage as you do. Yet, I still feel the anger, the contempt, just radiating from you, like I am the one to blame for this entire mess. Why don't you look to your dear old friend Robert and ask him why he wanted me to marry Lyarra. But you already know, don't you, Lord Stark?"

"Careful, Ser Jaime," Ned warned.

The Kingslayer rolled his eyes. "Or what? Don't avoid the question. Why do you think this marriage happened?"

"Aye, I've given it thought, I'll admit," Ned allowed. "But I don't pretend to know Robert's mind."

"Give it a go. You'll surprise yourself. It's remarkably easy," Jaime encouraged, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Ned hesitated. Of course he had given the matter much thought. He had discussed it with Catelyn before they went to sleep many times. They more often than not reached the same conclusion. Sighing, Ned relented.

"Robert wanted to slight your father by meddling in his affairs," Ned answered. "And he used my daughter to do it."

Jaime smiled bitterly. "Very good. In return for a much lower interest rate on the crown's debt to House Lannister, Robert agreed to release me from my vows. But he felt as though my father was leading him around by the balls – his words, not mine – and wanted to teach him a lesson. And yes, he used your daughter to do it, just so he could drag you out of your northern wasteland and find a way to keep you south. What great friends you have, Lord Stark!"

"Don't insult the king, Ser Jaime. Such an act is treason," Ned reminded the Kingslayer.

To his surprise, Jaime chuckled. "You'll make a fine Hand. You already defend the king to the last, even when Robert uses your blind loyalty against you. What's the saying? The king shits and the Hand wipes."

Not for the first time since his daughter's wedding, Ned felt a fierce loathing for the man who was now his relation by marriage. Lyarra deserved a better husband, a kinder husband, yet she was now bound to a cocky, vulgar and dishonourable man.

"I haven't promised the king anything yet, you'll be glad to hear. You no doubt would have preferred if your father was given the position." Tywin would make a better Hand than he would, but he would not serve Robert loyally.

"I never cared much for politics, I fear, or which poor soul Robert orders to rule his kingdom," Jaime quipped. "My father, on the other hand, believes the king has slighted him."

"Aye, I thought as much," Ned replied. When Jaime didn't add some witty retort, Ned took the opportunity as a chance to leave. "As much as I've enjoyed our chat, the king is waiting for me."

Jaime flashed him a smile. "Far be it from me to make you late for his Grace. Hopefully he hasn't drank himself into a stupor again."

"Goodbye, ser," Ned said brashly, ignoring what Jaime had said. He had no desire to feed into Jaime's arrogance. He brushed past the Kingslayer as he made his way down the corridor, stopping at the king's bedroom down the hall.

Ned was let in by the Kingsguard and found his old friend sitting in front of the fire, pouring himself another cup of ale. Robert's face split into a large grin when he saw Ned approaching.

"Ah, Ned! Ale?"

"I shouldn't, Your Gr-"

"You forget your manners. Didn't you learn that it's bad manners to say no to a king?" Robert chastised. He poured Ned a cup of ale before he put the pitcher on the table and looked up at Ned with a challenging stare. Ned stared back, wary of how things had grown tense. After a few seconds of intense staring, Robert barked a loud laugh. Ned found himself laughing with him. Robert's laugh had always been contagious. "Sit down and drink."

"As you command," Ned quipped back, sitting in the chair beside Robert's. He picked up the cup and began drinking it slowly.

"You took your time getting here," Robert commented. Ned's eyes flickered towards his friend. The king was scowling at him. Robert never did like to be kept waiting.

"I was speaking with Ser Jaime."

"Ah, the Kingslayer. How is marriage suiting him?" Robert laughed to himself, a laugh that turned into a cough. Ned watched the king cough with a terrible sort of satisfaction. He would be fine if Robert was merely terrorising Ser Jaime, but he had bound Lyarra to an unwanted life as well. But Robert wasn't thinking of anyone or anything but himself and what he wanted, as always.

"Well enough," Ned lied. He wasn't sure if it was a lie, though. He hadn't asked Jaime if he was happy. Ned didn't really care about the Kingslayer's happiness, only Lyarra's, even if he hadn't asked her either.

"Your daughter's a pretty one. The Kingslayer is lucky." _Lucky that you forced my hand. Lucky that you forced Tywin Lannister's hand._ "When I first saw your daughter – Lyarra, isn't it?" Ned nodded, fearing what Robert was going to say. He already knew. "I tried to see your sister in her. She rides like Lyanna, but that's the beginning and end of all similarities. I thought that, if she looked like her, I might remember what Lyanna looked like. It's been so long, Ned. I've forgotten her face. The only woman I've ever loved, and I've forgotten what she looks like."

"Lyarra is not Lyanna." Ned regretted how the two names sounded so similar. It almost ruined his point.

"No, she isn't," Robert replied thoughtfully, a rueful smile on his lips. "She has your look, in truth. Dark hair, grey eyes. A solemn face but a kind smile."

Ned smiled – a real, true smile. "I've been told she has Catelyn's cheekbones."

Robert barked a laugh. "And your height, unfortunately. I only realised how tiny she was at the wedding ceremony. From what I remember of it, that is. The Kingslayer towered over her."

"That he did," Ned agreed. Jaime was a whole head taller than Lyarra, and then some. As a child, Lyarra had resembled a doll. Sometimes, when she pouted, Ned thought that she still did.

"The others have Catelyn's look, save the girl... Arra?"

"Arya," Ned corrected.

"Arya," Robert repeated. "She looks like you. The redhead-"

"Sansa."

" _Sansa._ There's none of you in her at all. It's like looking at a younger Catelyn."

Ned chuckled. Men always said she had Catelyn's look, but even his wife had to admit that Sansa would grow to be an even greater beauty than she. Her hair was a lighter copper colour, her eyes a more stunning blue. Catelyn was perfect to Ned, the woman he loved more than he ever thought possible, but no one could deny than Sansa was a blooming rose that would outshine even her own mother.

"None of the children have my look. It makes it easier to ignore them." Ned bristled at the way Robert spoke of his children. Since the rebellion, Ned had clung to his family. They were everything to him. He couldn't imagine speaking so dismissively of his own children. "They're all Cersei's. Every inch Lannister. I've searched for bits of myself in them, or even bits of my father or Stannis or Renly... nothing. They're all fucking Lannister."

Having seen the three children, Ned couldn't argue otherwise. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were Lannisters through and through, with hair of gold and eyes of green. Ned finished his cup of ale and placed it on the table beside him. A mistake, Ned soon learned, as Robert immediately refilled his cup and handed it to him.

"Have you made up your mind?"

Robert didn't specify, but Ned knew exactly what he meant. Ned sighed and took a long sip of ale. He would have preferred more time to make up his mind, but the royal party left tomorrow and Ned didn't really have any other choice.

"Aye. I'll be your Hand," Ned swore. "I will serve you the best I can."

"And the girl? Will you consent to her marrying Joffrey?"

Ned sighed. Robert couldn't just be happy with one promise. "I will."

"You can bring one of your boys with you. Or both. They'll be raised with Tommen, like me and you at the Eyrie." Robert gave him a smile. Ned could see that he was truly happy and wished that he could share in the king's joy.

"I wish to bring Arya with me as well."

"Bring your whole bloody household with you if you want! And Winter Town too, if you must," Robert chuckled heartily. "It makes no difference to me."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Ned inclined his head and stood shakily. "With your leave, I must return to my wife."

Elated and drunk, Robert gave him leave. Ned heard the king's snore the moment the door shut behind him.

A feeling of dread rose within the new Hand. Bad things happened to Starks who went south.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:** the plot will be similar to the TV show and books at the beginning, but will then diverge from canon. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! What did you think of Jaime and Ned's interaction? Poor Jaime will never get a break from Ned Stark!_


	5. Love Never Dies

**Love Never Dies**

Jaime sought out his sister that night, knowing that it would be their last night together for quite some time. Cersei would have to return to King's Landing with her drunk of a husband and Jaime would have to stay in Casterly Rock with his wife. For the first time in years, they would be separated. Cersei was his other half, the love of his life – he _had_ to see her, honour be damned.

Very few knew the secret passageways of Casterly Rock as he did. As a child, Jaime often sneaked out of his bedroom late at night to explore the keep. As he grew older, he used his knowledge of the passageways to go to Cersei's bedroom undetected.

The halls were lit only by the lantern in his hand and Jaime had to crouch down as the ceiling was too low for a decently sized man. He set the lantern onto the floor and knocked at the ceiling. He heard the rustling of footsteps before Cersei set aside the floor-board, revealing Jaime. He smirked up at her.

"Hello, sister," he drawled, climbing into Cersei's bedroom with his lantern. He blew out the flame when there was no more need of it.

"What were you _thinking_?" Cersei exclaimed, face flushed and angry. "My husband was just here! Had he stayed only a few moments longer, he would have seen you! He would have-"

"I don't care about Robert and what he might have done to us," Jaime declared, stepped towards Cersei. He cupped her face in his hands, delighted when she didn't push him away like she had at his wedding. "Fuck Robert. Fuck the Starks. Fuck them all. All I care about is you and me."

Cersei smiled at him. Her cheekbones were highlighted by the candlelight and her golden hair shone bright in the dimly lit room. She had never looked more lovely. But then her smile turned sour and she pushed him away. "And your wolf bride? What about her?"

"Lyarra? What about her?" Jaime repeated, watching his sister with confusion and she poured herself a glass of wine.

When Cersei faced him again, her expression was angry as she snarled at him. "I was walking past your chambers this morning when I heard you two. Do you enjoy fucking her, Jaime? Your little child bride?"

Jaime stiffened, but tried to seem unaffected. "Father has ordered me to sire a child on her. What else am I to do?"

His twin laughed without humour. "Oh, fuck her as often as you please, by all means. It shouldn't be difficult. She's quite pretty, don't you think? Like a little doll."

"Are you _jealous_ of Lyarra Stark?" Jaime asked her. He chuckled darkly. "I have spent the last seventeen years standing out your bedroom door as Robert took you. Now you have just a taste of what that's like and you've decided to punish me for it?"

"I'm not jealous of that little girl," Cersei denied. "I pity her, actually. You're not as handsome as you used to be nor as vigorous in bed."

"I think I satisfy my wife well enough, sister," Jaime retorted, flashing Cersei an arrogant smirk. "Of course, a man can't know for certain, but judging by how she screamed my name as I fucked her-"

His gloating was interrupted by a harsh slap. His cheek stung, but Jaime met his sister's glare with a grin. He caught her wrist and spun her around so that her back was pressing against his chest as his arms kept her in place.

She wriggled against him. "Let me go!"

"Never," he swore, his voice husky in her ear. "You're leaving tomorrow. I don't want to spend our last night tomorrow arguing."

"I suspect we'll be seeing each other soon enough. Eddard Stark has been made Hand of the King," Cersei told him, using his momentary shock to step away from him.

"Stark accepted?" That was unlike Ned Stark. The man hated the south and all the politics and games that came with it.

Cersei nodded. "I was surprised too. I do not like it, Jaime. Robert should have asked you."

"Gods forbid," Jaime replied lazily, sitting himself down at the end of Cersei's bed. "It's not an honour I'd want. There's far too much work involved. Their days are long and their lives are short."

"Don't you see the danger this puts us in?" Cersei began to pace up and down her bedroom. Once his sister started fretting about nothing, there was no sating her. "Robert loves the man like a brother."

Jaime scoffed. "Robert can barely stomach his brothers. Not that I blame him. Stannis would be enough to give anyone indigestion." He had never been fond of Stannis Baratheon. The man was dutiful and loyal, but he was also cold and unforgiving. Stannis had never approved of Jaime.

"Don't play the fool," Cersei chastised. "Stannis and Renly are one thing, and Eddard Stark is quite another. Robert will listen to Stark. Damn them both. I should have insisted that he name you. That would have kept you in King's Landing. But I was certain Stark would refuse him."

"We ought to count ourselves fortunate. The king might as easily have named one of his brothers, or even Littlefinger, gods help us. Give me honourable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and I'll sleep more easily by night." Jaime thought he heard the sound of stones falling down the tower, but put it down to crows flying about.

"We will have to watch him carefully," Cersei declared, knocking back another glass of wine.

He was growing bored of all this worrying. "I would sooner watch you. Come here."

Cersei ignored him. "Lord Eddard has never taken any interest in anything that happened south of the Neck aside from your mess of a marriage, and that was only by the king's order. I tell you, he means to move against us. Why else would he leave his seat of power?"

"A hundred reasons," Jaime answered. "Duty. Honour. He years to write his name large across the book of history. To stay close to his daughter, or get away from his wife. Maybe all three. Perhaps he just wants to be warm for once in his life."

"His wife is Lady Arryn's sister. What if she told her something?"

Again, Jaime heard scraping from just outside Cersei's window. He ignored it, focusing on calming his sister. "You fret too much. Lysa Arryn is a frightened cow."

"That frightened cow shared Jon Arryn's bed," Cersei reminded him.

"If she knew anything, she would have gone to Robert before she fled King's Landing."

"When he had already agreed that weakling son of hers at Casterly Rock?" Cersei scoffed, shaking her head. "I think not. She knew the boy's life would be hostage to her silence. She may grow bolder now that he's safe atop the Eyrie."

"Mothers." Jaime said the word like it was a curse. "I think birthing does something to your minds. You are all mad." A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Let Lady Arryn grow as bold as she likes. Whatever she knows, whatever she thinks she knows, she has no proof." Jaime paused and shared a long look with Cersei. Jon Arryn was snooping around before his death, visiting Robert's bastards in brothels and whatnot. "Or does she?"

Cersei scoffed again. "Do you think the king will require proof?" she asked bitterly. "I tell you, he loves me not."

"And whose fault is that, sweet sister?" Jaime asked. He stood up and poured himself a glass of wine. If he was going to have to listen to his sister fret and conjure non-existent enemies all night, then he would need to be somewhat inebriated.

"All it would take is some coaxing from Stark and we'd both loose our heads. Does that not worry you?"

"Of course it does. My head is far too handsome to be parted from me. What would I do without it?" Jaime quipped. His sister merely glared at him. "Come now, Cersei. Stark is as loyal a man as they come."

"You are as blind as Robert," Cersei accused.

"If you mean I see the same thing, yes," Jaime allowed. "I see a man who would sooner die than betray his king."

"He betrayed one already, or have you forgotten?" Jaime tilted his head to the side and gave his sister a look of disbelief. The Mad King was a completely different kettle of fish. There was nothing right in being loyal to such a terrible king. "Oh, I don't deny he's loyal to Robert, that's obvious. What happens when Robert dies and Joff takes the throne? And the sooner that comes to pass, the safer we'll all be. My husband grows more restless every day. Having Stark beside him will only make him worse. He's still in love with the sister, the insipid little dead sixteen-year-old. How long till he decides to put me aside for some new Lyanna? Perhaps your little wife will do. She resembles Lyanna Stark if you squint. The similarity would be enough for my husband."

Jaime laughed humourlessly at his sister's madness. "My wife is already married. To me. In case you haven't noticed."

"Of course I've noticed," Cersei scoffed. "He'll find a way to be rid of you as well, mark my words. He has no love for us."

Now she was reaching. Her speculations were bordering on insanity. Jaime sighed and stepped closer to her, cupping her face in his hands. "You should think less about the future and more about the pleasures at hand." He pressed his lips against hers and ravished her mouth with his tongue.

"Stop that!" Cersei exclaimed, but Jaime silenced her with his mouth.

Jaime pushed his sister against the wall and wrapped her legs around him. He was slow, hesitant, as something akin to guilt nabbed at him. This felt like a betrayal. Not the kind of betrayal that Jaime had relished in before, when they were sneaking behind only Robert's back and there was some sort of victory in that. Jaime found himself thinking of his wife. His doting, kind little wife who believed him to be more honourable than he actually was. If she saw him now...

"What's wrong with you?" Cersei asked him breathlessly. "You're usually more demanding than this."

"I'm merely taking my time, sweet sister," Jaime said. "We have all night."

He pressed his lips to her neck and nipped at her flesh, making Cersei moan with pleasure. The sound made his cock twitch. _Good,_ Jaime thought, _if she would only moan louder, then all my hesitation will be forgotten._

Her hands pulled at his hair, whispering dirty, vulgar words into his ear. Jaime was ready, the Stark girl forgotten, and pulled up Cersei's skirts and loosened his own breeches. He was about to enter Cersei when he heard a boy gasp.

Cersei needlessly pushed him away from her. "JAIME! THE BOY!" she shouted, pointing towards the window. Jaime looked to the window as he pulled up his breeches. He saw a boy fumbling to regain balance. The boy eventually did and reached for the gargoyle above Cersei's window, trying to escape, but slipped and fell. He shot out a hand and tried to grab the ledge, lost it, and tried again with his other hand. The boy was panting and dangling from the window.

With a start, Jaime realised that he recognised the boy. He had seen him play with Lyarra in her bedchambers, and with Tommen and Myrcella on numerous occasions. The boy was Bran Stark, the son of Ned Stark. His wife's brother. That made everything that much more difficult.

"He saw us," Cersei stated shrilly.

"So he did," was all Jaime said in response. Seeing that Bran's fingers were starting to slip, Jaime reached down and offered the boy his hand. "Take my hand. Before you fall."

"What are you doing?" Cersei hissed. No doubt she would have preferred if he'd let the boy fall to his death. In truth, Jaime didn't know what he was doing. He was still considering his options as he yanked the young Stark boy up to the ledge and steadied him. "How old are you, boy?"

"Ten," Bran said, looking relieved. The boy had dug deep gouges into Jaime's forearm from holding on so tightly. Bran let go sheepishly.

"Ten," Jaime repeated as he looked over to Cersei, whose eyes were flickering between Bran and him fearfully. If the boy ratted on them, she would loose his head, so would he. Their children would die. There was only one option, really.

"The things I do for love," he said with loathing as he gave the boy a shove. Brandon Stark screamed as he fell from the tower. Jaime heard a wolf howl. Another wolf started howling as well, forming a sad chorus.

It was Fang, Jaime realised. Fang and the boy's direwolf were howling together, though it sounded more like crying. He met Cersei's wide eyes, trying to hide the guilt that was growing inside of him. He found himself thinking of Lyarra. If her wolf somehow knew, then she would know as well soon enough. For some reason, the thought upset him. He had just murdered her brother – his goodbrother.

"Fuck," Jaime cursed, tossing a vase to the floor. "What have I done?"

He rushed out of the room, not caring that anyone could see him, ignoring Cersei's cries. "What are you doing? Jaime, get back here!" she commanded, her voice a hush. _"Jaime!"_

It had seemed right in the moment. He was just a boy, a boy who could destroy their lives with the knowledge he had. There had only been one option. Jaime thought he had no choice. But there was always a choice, and Jaime had chosen wrong.

Off in the distance, Jaime heard a woman wailing. When he listened more closely, he realised that the cries belonged to his wife. People were gathering in the courtyard. Jaime saw the eldest Stark, Robb, push his way through the crowd to get to his sister and brother. Jaime rushed towards them.

"Don't move him," Jaime commanded as soon as he saw that Lyarra was going cradle the boy. "If he has any chance of walking again, moving him will move his spine out of line. Has the maester been called?"

"Aye. As soon as I heard the lady yelling,," his old friend Ser Addam Marbrand assured him. Jaime nodded his thanks. He placed a hand on his wife's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, though he didn't think she even noticed.

"What is this? What has happened?" Ned Stark pushed his way through the crowd with his wife, approaching Jaime and his three children. His jaw fell when he saw his son's mangled body. "Good gods." Stark fell to his knees by the boy's side and began to weep.

Jaime's attention was taken away from Stark when he heard a woman scream. Lady Stark had fallen to her knees, scrambling towards her son's broken body, tears falling freely down her face. Jaime gulped. _The things I do for love._ Jaime had never felt so much regret before. Perhaps he was truly as horrible as people said.

As the boy was carried away in a stretcher by his brother and father and some other men who had offered their help, Jaime pulled Lyarra into his chest as she wept and stroked her hair. He met Cersei's narrowed eyes from across the courtyard.

 _The things I do for love._

* * *

After much begging and arguing, Lyarra's father had finally gotten the king to agree to postpone the trip south for a few more days as they waited – and hoped, and _prayed –_ for Bran to wake up. Lyarra couldn't bare to look at her brother's unconscious form. She tried to convince herself that he was merely sleeping, and that made the whole ordeal slightly easier for a few seconds before reality hit her like a ton of bricks. How she hated to see her little brother at death's grasp. Lyarra stayed out of the room where Bran was, both for her sake and her mother's.

Every time she tried to sit at Bran's bedside, she ended up crying and upsetting Mother, so Lyarra did what she could without being near him. She prayed for hours at the Godswood near the keep – Jaime had brought her there the day after Bran had fallen, knowing that she'd want to pray to her own gods – and ordered the best medicine and equipment for Bran.

Today, she decided that she would try to bare it again. She took a deep breath and was about to push open the door to Bran's room when the door was suddenly opened, revealing Robb.

"Lya?" he observed, sounding shocked to see her. Lyarra stepped back to allow him room to step aside, but her brother closed the door behind him and led her away from the room. "What are you doing?"

"Going to see Bran," Lyarra answered, bewildered as to why that came as such a shock to him.

Robb pressed his lips together, his face forming a frown. "Do you think that's such a good idea?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lyarra's voice was high-pitched and defensive as she folded her arms in front of her chest and glared at her twin.

"I only mean that..." Robb sighed, trailing off. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a meaningful look. "Honestly, Lya, I don't think it's wise for you to be around Bran and Mother at the moment. Not until things are looking up."

She blinked away tears and swallowed the lump in her throat that had formed at the mention of their little brother. "You can't keep me away."

"No, I can't," Robb admitted as his shoulders deflated. "I can only hope that you do what's best for Mother. She's distraught, Lya. She's barely holding it together. Last time you saw Bran, you started bawling. Mother broke down soon after you left. I can't fault you for being upset. You have a gentle heart, you always have. I only ask that you be considerate of Mother."

Her first reaction was indignation and anger. She had always been _considerate_ of their mother, even when her siblings hadn't. She was the one who stepped up when Rickon was born and Catelyn had little time for him, too busy with her duties as Lady of Winterfell, and helped raise her youngest brother. Robb had spent his time playing at being a warrior, and yet he now had the nerve to lecture her about being _considerate_? Lyarra scoffed.

The last time she had visited Bran repeated in her memory. As Robb escorted her from the room, Lyarra had heard her mother's wailing. Lyarra felt immense guilt at making her mother so upset, yet she made herself feel better by blaming her mother's reaction on the whole situation, on Bran being injured. _But it was I who set her off,_ Lyarra couldn't help but think. _Perhaps Robb's right. Perhaps I am at fault._

Lyarra's expression softened and she let out a defeated sigh. "Very well. I suppose you're right." With that, she began walking away from him. Robb grabbed her arm and pulled her back before she could go too far.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, eyes alight with worry.

"To the Godswood," Lyarra answered, rolling her eyes. She ripped her arm out of Robb's grasp and shot him a glare. "Don't worry, brother. I'm sure your leash stretches that far."

" _Lya_..." She didn't give him a chance to say anything more.

Lyarra stormed down the hallway and towards her bedroom, visibly distraught. She ripped off her dress and put on her riding clothes, beckoning Fang to follow at her heel as she almost ran towards the stables. Without even bothering to saddle him, Lyarra hopped onto her horse and galloped towards the godswood with Fang running to keep up with them.

She felt a tear slip down her cheek, but wiped it away as soon as she felt it. The wind was in her hair, Fang was woofing happily – for the first time since Bran's fall, Lyarra felt some sort of joy. She gracefully dismounted when she reached the godswood, all joy disappearing from her face as she remembered why she was there. She fell on her knees in front of the weirwood tree and began to pray – to _beg._ Only a few days ago, her biggest worry was settling into Casterly Rock and making her husband tolerate her. Now, her little brother was on the brink of death! A sob got caught in her throat. She swallowed it down and continued to pray.

Even Fang seemed to recognise the sacredness of the godswood. Her wolf, usually so wild and loud, was sitting beside Lyarra in front of the weirwood tree, eyeing it with interest. Lyarra ran her hand along Fang's fur, lost in thought. She didn't realise how late it was until the sunlight dimmed and dusk reigned over the sky. The young Lady Lannister didn't stir, however, and repeated her prayers over and over again until her voice was hoarse. Eventually, when her voice became strained and her throat sore, she began to say them in her head. That was when she heard the galloping of a horse approaching from behind her.

Lyarra glanced over her shoulder. Jaime hopped off his horse, his face a perfect mixture of worry and anger. Lyarra sighed and stood up, dusting off her skirts as her husband stalked towards her.

"Imagine my surprise when some stable boy tells me that my wife ran off about midday, _unaccompanied_ ," Jaime scolded. Fang growled at him, not liking his tone. Lyarra did nothing to discourage her direwolf and merely stared at Jaime. Her husband sighed wearily. "What were you thinking?"

"I wanted some peace and quiet. I went to the godswood. That's all there is to it. Now, if you would excuse me..." Lyarra tried to brush past him, but Jaime grabbed her arm and pulled her back, just as Robb had done earlier that day. She glanced down pointedly at his hand on her arm, urging him to release her.

"You could have been harmed," Jaime chastised. "What if some lucky bandit happened upon you, a lone woman without any protection? What do you think would have happened then?"

 _I would have been robbed and raped._ Lyarra knew the answer. "Fang would have torn him apart."

Jaime rolled his eyes at her reply. "Or the wolf would have fled at the sight of danger, as animals often do–"

"Fang would never desert me," Lyarra replied confidently, and her wolf growled in agreement as she rubbed the area behind Fang's ears.

"Your fate in your wolf is touching, truly," Jaime began dryly, eyes darting between the lady and the wolf in distaste. "Next time, do my sanity a favour and bring a guard."

"And your concern for my well-being is touching indeed, but I have no desire to be babied," Lyarra retorted, bitterness laced in her voice. She was upset and for some reason, her sadness was manifesting itself in anger.

"Did your father let you roam around the countryside unprotected?" Jaime asked, sounding properly curious. Knowing that her answer would only strengthen his argument, Lyarra merely shot him a glare. Jaime gave her a small smirk. "I thought as much. Come along now, I'd rather get you back to Casterly Rock before my father realises you've ran away. I would loathe to receive another lecture about controlling my wolf of a bride."

 _Control me?!_ Lyarra bit her tongue. She would not allow anyone, husband or otherwise, to ever _control_ her. She may be, by all laws and tradition, Jaime's property now, but she'd be damned if she ever allowed a man to control her like she was a dog.

She climbed on top of her horse and urged the stallion forward. Jaime was just as quick, urging his horse to ride beside hers so he could continue his teasing.

He surprised even Lyarra by allowing his expression to soften, his smirk to fade. Jaime let out a long breath. "Look, I know you're upset about Rickon, but you cannot act recklessly, Lyarra. You do no one any favours by acting like a child."

"Bran," was all Lyarra said in response. She gritted out the name like it pained her to do so.

Jaime was confused. "What?"

"His name is Bran," Lyarra said blankly, not even sparing him a glance.

"My apologies." Jaime rolled his eyes, gripping the reigns on his horse tighter in an attempt to contain his frustration. "Do you understand me, Lyarra?"

How she hated to be spoken to as though she was a child. She was a woman grown – wedded and bedded – and she would not be spoken to patronisingly. Her mother told her that a wife wasn't supposed to argue with her husband, a proper lady didn't argue with anyone really, but all Lyarra wanted to do was throttle Jaime. She clenched her jaw and inhaled sharply, trying to calm herself down.

"The only way to placate you is saying that I do. What choice have I truly? You'll keep harping on until I agree," she replied coolly, quickening the speed of her horse's trot. Jaime did the same with his, making sure to stay at the same pace as Lyarra. She could feel the anger radiating from her husband and found that she was glad to get a rise out of him.

"Very well. If you're going to act like a child, then so be it, I'll treat you like one. I'll have a guard stationed outside your door, day and night. I'll have him follow you wherever you go. If that is what it takes to keep you in like, then that's what I'll do," Jaime warned her. They had reached the stables and were dismounting their horses. Lyarra only looked at him then, eyes wide with shock.

"Are you threatening me?" Lyarra asked, high-pitched and horrified that he would do such a thing.

"It's not a threat. It's a warning. I will not tolerate an insubordinate wife causing me more hassle than I need."

Lyarra huffed, hands on her hips, and glared at him. "Your father has finally gotten through to you, then. You're the one speaking, yet I'm hearing the words of Tywin Lannister."

"Perhaps I've finally realised the truth in my father's words. The years have made him wise, you see. I'd be a fool not to listen to him on most matters," Jaime responded. Lyarra heard the threat in his tone. Only a few days ago he had sworn to her that, even if his father urged him to, he would not take her forcefully. She saw the anger in his eyes and wondered... _no, he would not._ And yet, Lyarra still felt afraid.

"I'm going to bed," Lyarra announced. "Goodnight, ser."

Perhaps Jaime had noticed the fear etched on her face or the way her voice quivered, but her husband merely nodded in response, looking shocked and dazed. He stepped aside and allowed her to pass. Fang followed behind her as she walked to her room. Jaime didn't visit her that night, the first since they were wed apart from the night of Bran's fall. Ever since her brother's fall, she found herself needing his body as a form of comfort, and Jaime was always willing. He had been so kind to her. Today, she had seen another side of him, a side she hoped never to see again.

She fell asleep on the bed with Fang sprawled out beside her.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_** _Next chapter- the Stark family goes their separate ways! The scene with Jaime and Cersei is mostly taken from the books with a few adjustments. I hope to avoid including too many rehashed scenes like that, but I thought it was necessary this time._

 _As always, tell me what you think!_


	6. Bitter Farewells

**Bitter Farewells**

The king had grown impatient and weary of waiting for Bran to wake up, so he decided that it was within his rights to order Lyarra's father and sisters to leave for King's Landing immediately, even though Bran's fate was still hanging in the air. The day they were to leave was the same day Robb and Rickon would depart for Winterfell. Though Jon was capable enough, he wasn't trained to be Lord of Winterfell, Robb was, and Rickon was given the choice to stay with Lyarra or go home. Of course, he chose Winterfell. Mother – and hopefully Bran, if- _when_ he woke – would follow them in a few weeks.

All at once, Lyarra was being stripped of all the family she had. It took all the will power she had just to get out of bed that morning and as her handmaiden dressed her, Lyarra noticed that her reflection in the mirror looked like that of a corpse, not a young girl. She splashed some water on her face and hoped that would make her complexion more lively.

They would say their goodbyes in the courtyard. Jaime was saying his farewells to his sister, her children and his brother Lord Tyrion. Tyrion was travelling north with Robb and Rickon. He wanted to visit the Wall. She hadn't had much interaction with her good-brother, but of all the Lannisters, he seemed the most tolerable.

Lyarra sighed, wondering why things never seemed to work out in her favour, before she walked towards her twin brother. Robb was readying his horse, but stopped when he saw her and gave her a big smile.

"We'll visit, I promise," he swore, as though he could read her mind. Tears pooled in Lyarra's eyes. _Only the first farewell and I'm already crying!_ "And you'll visit Winterfell again someday. I swear it, Lya. Even if I have to drag you there myself!"

"Oh, Robb!" Lyarra laughed, tears falling down her cheeks as she smacked Robb's arm playfully. She sobbed and launched herself into his arms, holding her brother tight as though these her their final moments together. "I'm going to miss you!"

She heard Robb choke back a sob and felt bad for making him upset, but she couldn't help it! They had never been apart, and now they were to be permanently separated!

"I'll miss you too, Lya, but we'll see each other again. Don't worry," Robb promised. He pulled away from her and gave her another smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He lowered his voice to a whisper as he said darkly, "And if the Kingslayer mistreats you in any way... I'll gut him, Lya. I will. I'll come south and gut him."

Though she knew full well that Robb was unlikely to beat her husband in a fair fight, Lyarra smiled at him gratefully before putting on a smirk. "If my husband mistreats me in any way, I'll have him gutted myself before you can reach Moat Cailin."

Robb's booming laughter filled the courtyard. "Promise me you'll stay like this. My little spitfire of a sister."

"Father said to me once that you can take a northerner out of the north, but you cannot take the north out of a northerner. I'll never change, Robb. I can promise you that." She grinned at him.

"Good." Robb was grinning back at her. He spotted someone over her shoulder and gave them a short nod before turning back to her with sorry eyes. "I think Father wants to speak with you now."

Lyarra nodded. She felt the tears rushing back and tried to blink them away to no avail. She wrapped her arms around Robb one last time. "I'll see you soon." She spoke the words like they were a warning and they were, in truth.

Nodding, Robb replied solemnly. "You will. Goodbye, sister."

"Goodbye, brother." Tears welled in her eyes, Lyarra had to tear herself away from her brother. She tried to appear composed when she reached her father and succeeded, somewhat. Her eyes still stung which meant that they were no doubt rimmed with red.

"How are you?" her father asked worriedly, noticing the tears in her eyes.

"I don't want you to go," Lyarra said weakly, her resolve weakened as soon as she saw her father's kind, worried face.

"I know. I don't want to go either. It's too soon," he admitted and offered her a sad smile. "I'm only a few miles away, in truth. No doubt Robert will plan some sort of celebration soon that will require the attendance of all the southern lords."

Lyarra laughed at the way her father spoke, all fancy-like. "You do not belong here, Father, not at all!"

Her father chuckled. "I must agree with you on that. But neither do you, Lyarra. You were supposed to stay in the North and marry some northern lord. If it was my choice, then that would be your life. I've failed you. I should have fought harder."

She placed a hand on her father's arm and shook her head vehemently. She would not have him blame himself for things beyond his control. "No. You were obeying your king. You always taught us to be loyal and honourable. If you disobeyed Robert, you wouldn't be you."

A smile graced her father's lips at her words. "You are exactly who your mother and I hoped you would be. I'm proud of you, Lyarra."

Beaming at his words, Lyarra embraced her father warmly and kissed his cheek. Just then as they broke apart, Rickon came running towards her and latched onto her leg. "I'm not leaving until Lya comes with us!"

"Enough of this, Rickon. Let go of your sister," Ned scolded.

Rickon began to sob into her skirts. Lyarra's heart broke for him. "Never!" he exclaimed.

"Come now, Rickon," she said to him, bending down to his level. He released her leg and stood in front of her, sniffling and wiping his nose. "We'll see each other soon."

"You promise?" he sobbed.

"I promise," that was a lie. As far as she knew, Lyarra wouldn't see Rickon again until he was a man grown. The thought saddened her. She had been more of a mother to Rickon than his own mother had, yet she would not get the privilege of seeing him grow into a man. _Robb will. Robb gets everything. If only I had born a man!_

"Come on, Rickon," their father said as he lifted his youngest child into his arms. He gave Lyarra one last sorrowful nod before he walked away from her. Lyarra choked on another sob. She could not bare any more farewells, yet she knew that she had to. Sansa and Arya came over to her next. Both were more composed than Robb and Father had been.

"You two mustn't fight too much. I won't be there to pull you two away from each other before things get too rough," Lyarra warned them, giving them a stern look like a mother would. She tried to be composed, but she felt herself tear up again and wrapped them both in a hug. "You'll write, won't you?" She spoke mostly to Arya, knowing that Sansa would be too wrapped up in court life to care about her.

"Of course we will!" Sansa chirped back. "And next time I visit you here, I may be queen!"

Lyarra rolled her eyes. Of course Sansa had to put in a mention of being queen somewhere in the conversation. At least they had gotten her boasting over with.

"Isn't that treason or something? You're anticipating the death of the king," Arya said bluntly, narrowing her eyes at Sansa. Lyarra bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. As unfair as it was, Lyarra often rooted for Arya when her and Sansa would argue.

Sansa went a bright shade of red and began stammering. "What, I- I would, would _never-_ "

"Whatever," Arya interrupted, ignoring Sansa as she focused on Lyarra. "I'll write to you once every two weeks. Don't be insulted if I don't for a while, though. I'll be exploring King's Landing!"

"Of course you will be." Lyarra ruffled her little sister's hair fondly, earning a groan. "You must tell me all about it. Hopefully I'll see King's Landing for myself soon."

"You should be coming with us." Arya pouted.

"Lyarra can't. She has to stay with her husband!" Sansa stated, having only just recovered from Arya's accusation. Lyarra wished she hadn't. She didn't need another reminder of her current situation.

"That doesn't mean I have to stay glued to his hip," Lyarra snapped, causing Sansa to flinch and Arya to grin madly. She turned to her youngest sister. "After I settle into Casterly Rock, I'll visit you in King's Landing. That's a promise." She was making a lot of promises today. Lyarra hoped that she would able to keep some of them. But of all the promises she made today, visiting King's Landing was the most probable.

Without warning, Arya launched herself into Lyarra's arms and held her tight. Arya was sobbing which made Lyarra start crying as well. "I'm going to miss you so much," Arya sobbed into Lyarra's hair. "It's going to be so lonely without you."

Lyarra stroked Arya's hair and held her tighter, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "I'm going to miss you too, Arya. But this is not forever. I'm only a few miles away." She gave her sister a reassuring smile. "Be good, the both of you. No fighting."

"I'm not promising anything," Arya said, wiping her nose.

Sansa rolled her eyes. "Of course you wouldn't." She gave Lyarra a curt nod and a polite smile, not at all the farewell one would bid their sister. "Goodbye, sister."

"Goodbye, Sansa." Lyarra didn't bother embracing her, knowing that Sansa would be embarrassed by the open display of affection. She merely gave her sister a nod before turning to Arya again. She ruffled her youngest sister's hair again and smiled down at her. "You best go to Father. I think the royal party's leaving now."

"Goodbye, Lya," Arya said sadly, tearing up again. Lyarra gave her one last kiss on the forehead before she bid them both farewell. Only the gods knew how long it would be until they would see each other again.

She watched the horses and wheelhouses fade away into the distance, her lord husband by her side. It took all the strength she had to not start crying again. She would not have the servants thinking that she was weak and unstable. But as the little Lady Lannister tried to look impassive, she felt herself crumbling. She wasn't just losing her family today; she was saying goodbye to her childhood, her entire past. Winterfell was all she had known. For so long, her family was her life. Everything was going to change. She needed her mother, more than she ever had, but Lady Stark was currently at Bran's bedside, staring at his motionless body and uselessly willing him to wake up.

"I'm going to see Bran," she told Jaime crassly. He had so rarely been polite towards her, so she didn't see the point of trying with him anymore. She walked away before he could reply and was only barely in the keep before tears started falling down her face. Was this what it was to be an adult? To be a _wife_? It seemed so dreadfully lonely. If this was to be her life... Lyarra didn't think she could ever get used to it.

Instead of going to see her brother – Lyarra wasn't in a state to be around anyone – she ran to her bedroom and barred the doors. _Her_ bedroom. _Her_ home. It still sounded strange to call Casterly Rock her home when it was not. _If this is to be my future, then I must accept it,_ Lyarra thought. _There's no point in wallowing in something that cannot be changed._ She would wallow today, she decided, but tomorrow... tomorrow she would become the Lady of Casterly Rock.

* * *

Catelyn didn't know what time it was.

With the shutters closed, she couldn't even tell what time of day it was. But the sunlight would pain her eyes, and it was easier to forget about the outside world, about all other worries, when the shutters were closed. All that mattered to her at the moment was Bran. Everything else was just a distraction.

"My sweet boy," she muttered to her son's motionless form, tearing up at the sight of him. "My dear, sweet boy. Come back to me." For the fourth time that day, Catelyn began to cry. She leaned over her son's body and wept. "Please, come back to me!"

There was a knock on the door. Startled, Catelyn straightened up and wiped her eyes, remembering when the queen had caught her in such a sorry state on days before. _Or was it yesterday?_ Catelyn hadn't slept in so long... she could no longer tell which day it was.

"Come in," she replied to the knocking, her voice was hoarse from crying. All the speaking she had done in the past few hours was whispering encouragingly to Bran, begging him to return to her. Tywin Lannister walked into the room. Catelyn didn't even bother to stand up to greet him.

"Lady Stark," Tywin greeted, inclining his head in respect. Catelyn did the same. He walked over to the window and opened the shutters. "Some sunlight might do him good."

She nodded rigidly. "I thank you for letting us stay longer, my lord. The maester says that the journey back to Winterfell would only serve to further bend his spine. Whatever chance he has of walking..." Catelyn choked on a sob. Gulping, she struggled to continue. "I thank you for your hospitality."

"We are family now," Tywin replied, sitting down on the seat at the end of Bran's bed. "Through your daughter's marriage to my son. I have a duty to your family, as yours does to mine."

Although she had grown up in the south and had a reasonable understanding of how the mechanisms of southern politics worked, sometimes Catelyn was baffled by the overly ambitious lords that were bred in lands even more southerly than Riverrun. Tywin Lannister often confused her, with his hidden meanings and suggestions. Perhaps she had gotten too used to the simple ways of the North, or perhaps Lord Tywin was too good at this game they played in the south.

"Indeed," Catelyn said warily. "I know that House Stark will aid House Lannister in any way we can."

Lord Tywin gave an approving nod. "Then by all means, you may stay as long as you like."

"Thank you, my lord," she said again, weakly this time. Something so simple as a conversation had succeeded in tiring her.

For quite some time, they sat in silence, staring at Bran's unmoving body. Lord Tywin was as thoughtful as she was melancholic. Even as still as he was, Catelyn could almost see the gears working behind his narrowed, green eyes.

"He's a strong boy," Tywin commented. "Tall for his age, yes?"

Catelyn nodded. "Taller than Robb was at his age. He and Sansa were the only ones lucky enough to inherit the Tully height." She gave a small laugh. "Robb, Lyarra and Arya favour the Starks in that regard."

"Lyarra is very small," Tywin noted, his eyes narrowing again at her. Catelyn almost shrunk beneath his glare. "I have wondered if her small frame would have any effect on her ability to bare children."

Blinking in surprise, Catelyn was somewhat outraged that he would speak to her about such things while her son was on the brink of... no, she would not say it. Nevertheless, Lord Tywin should have more tact.

"It should have none at all, as far as I know." Catelyn's response was crisp. It was her duty to provide Tywin with whatever information he asked for regarding Lyarra, however much she loathed doing so. "She is healthy and had her blood at a reasonable age. I don't see how it would be an issue."

He nodded briskly, becoming thoughtful again. "You must understand my concern. The future of House Lannister is dependant on your daughter's fertility."

"And Ser Jaime's," Catelyn reminded him sharply. "There is no way to know whether your son is capable of siring children either."

The Old Lion raised his eyebrows, surprised at Catelyn's boldness and seeming almost impressed by it. Catelyn would not have her daughter's fertility put into question without some sort of retaliation for the slight. "I suppose so," was Tywin's reply. "Though House Lannister has never produced a barren man or woman."

"Neither has House Tully," Catelyn stated proudly. "Nor House Stark, to my knowledge."

Tywin regarded her closely, as though measuring her worth. "You're more intelligent than I'd thought you be. They said you were a doting mother and a capable lady, but said nothing of your cleverness." He let out a humourless laugh. "Your daughter, too. I expected a witless child. I was pleasantly surprised. She's intelligent."

Catelyn smiled. A mother was always more proud of her sons, as they were hers forever, but Catelyn was fiercely proud of Lyarra as well. She was dutiful, obedient and clever, so different to her sisters. While Arya was disobedient and wilful and Sansa, though a perfect lady, often whinged until she got her way, Lyarra only ever did as she was told. She admired that in her daughter. It was a quality she appreciated, now that she had two daughters who were rather disobedient.

"Lyarra is the only one of my children who ever showed an interest in her studies." Catelyn remembered how enthusiastic Lyarra had been about her lessons, telling stories at dinner about what she'd learned that day. "Robb loved to learn about strategies and war and Bran loved to listen to the histories of the North and South alike, but Lyarra was the only one who listened enthusiastically, no matter what subject. She'll do well at managing your keep."

"I don't doubt it," Tywin allowed. "At first I was reluctant to hand over the running of Casterly Rock to a mere girl, but your husband promised me that she was capable. I will take him at his word. I trust that's not a mistake on my part."

"It is not, my lord. I assure you," Catelyn promised.

Without saying anything more, Lord Tywin stood and walked towards the door. Before he opened it, he turned around to Catelyn and continued speaking. "You should get some sleep, Lady Stark. You're no good to the boy if you're half-asleep."

She gave him a short nod in response, not happy with being told what to do by a man who was of no relation to her. She didn't leave Bran's side for the rest of the day, and it was her stubbornness that saved her son's life.

* * *

"My lord. Ser Jaime. My lord, wake up."

Drunk with sleep, Jaime struggled to open his eyes. When he did, he caught a blurred vision of a young woman standing over him, her hand raised to slap him. Before she could, he grabbed her wrist, perhaps a little too roughly. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you. For future reference, cold water works nicely."

"Yes, my lord," the girl chirped. Jaime recognised her now. She was his wife's handmaiden. Jaime turned his head to the right, finding that the space beside him was empty. Lyarra was not in her bed. He looked to the handmaiden for an explanation. "There was an attack, last night. On Bran Stark. Lady Stark got her hands cut open, but the boy is fine." The handmaiden explained to him. Before she could finish the sentence, Jaime had jumped out of bed, as naked as his nameday, and threw on his clothes without bothering to lace his doublet.

"Why wasn't I told sooner?" Jaime barked at the handmaiden who was watching him, blushing madly. Jaime smirked. He had seldom felt attraction for a woman who wasn't Cersei, that didn't mean he didn't enjoy being admired by the opposite sex.

"Lady Lyarra said not to. She said there was no need," the girl stammered.

Jaime huffed. "It seems I ought to have a word with my wife."

He stormed out of the chambers he shared with his wife and towards Bran's room, where he knew he would find either Lyarra or Lady Stark. Truly, he only wished to find _someone_ who would tell him what was going on. _If my wife thinks that she can keep information from me..._ Lyarra Stark was not the shy, insipid girl he had thought her to be. Jaime had a feeling she was a lot cleverer than she let on.

When he entered the boy's room without even knocking, Jaime was surprised to find not just Lyarra and Lady Stark, but his father, Aunt Genna and Uncle Kevan as well. It seemed that everyone in the castle knew except him. The thought enraged Jaime. _Father has gotten what he always wanted, me as his heir, yet he still treats me like a child!_

"Jaime," his uncle was the first to greet him. Lyarra was watching him with wide, grey eyes. He sent her a glare that made his little wife shrink. Jaime was too angry to feel guilty.

"Uncle," Jaime responded blankly. "It seems that nobody bothered to inform me my young good-brother was attacked. Will someone tell me what the fuck happened?"

"Watch your tongue." His father was next to speak, silencing Jaime's arguments with a quick glare. Jaime shrunk, just as his wife had only seconds ago. "Your wife and her mother are distressed. You will show some respect." Jaime almost laughed. His father... concerned about the feelings of two insignificant women? What had Tywin to gain from being _kind_? "An assassin broke in during the night, wielding this dagger." Tywin handed him the dagger. Jaime could recognise the quality of the steel with only a quick glance.

"Valyrian steel," he recognised, shock evident in his tone. "Who would have..."

"That's what we've been discussing," his Aunt Genna responded. She too regarded him with disapproval. "Who would want a young boy dead? Do you have anything to add, Jaime?"

 _Cersei... could she have?_ No. Jaime didn't dare consider it. Cersei may be ruthless, but she was a mother too. Surely she couldn't kill a child! Jaime stammered his answer. "No, I..."

"That's why we didn't wake you," his aunt summarised sharply. "Everyone in this room was woken for a reason. Your wife and Lady Stark for obvious reasons, your father because the deed was done in _his_ keep, and Kevan... well, Kevan just seems to always be lurking about somewhere." She smiled kindly at him. "No offense towards you was attended."

"That doesn't explain why you're here, Genna," Kevan pointed out, eyeing his sister with disapproval.

Genna merely grinned. "Why, brother, you wound me! How would anything get done in this dreadful place if it wasn't for me?"

"Enough of your childishness," Tywin chided his siblings and Jaime. "Your contributions are unnecessary. What of the assassin, have you spoken with the guards?" He turned to Kevan.

"Yes. None of them saw anyone enter the keep. Either the assassin himself knew Casterly Rock well, or he was given instructions by someone who did," Kevan said. "Either way, it is reasonable to suspect someone who was either in the castle recently or who has lived in Casterly Rock for a long period of time."

Jaime's heartbeat quickened, realising that both suggestions implicated himself and Cersei. _Even if they did, Father would never punish Cersei and I when the boy's fall can so easily be brushed under the rug._ Jaime knew his father would never risk tainting the legacy of House Lannister. He had to hope that Tywin Lannister's obsession with his family's legacy was more important to the ageing lord than the fact that his own grandchildren were the products of incest between his son and daughter, which was not an unreasonable thing to hope.

Kevan and Genna filled him in on what happened once they had left Lady Stark and Lyarra to fuss over the Stark boy. An assassin had broken into the boy's rooms and attempted to kill him with a Valyrian steel dagger. Between Lady Stark and the boy's wolf, the attacker didn't succeed. That explained Lady Stark's bandaged hands. She had stopped the assassin from slicing her son by clutching the dagger herself, cutting her hands open in the process. Jaime was beginning to admire his wife's mother, seeing her as more of a she-wolf than a trout in her later years.

Later that night, he sat by the fire with a cup of ale in his hand. The life of a lord had driven him to drink. As a knight, he was too busy worrying about training and becoming a better swordsman to dare drink more than two cups of ale. As a lord and heir to the richest man in Westeros, Jaime was bored shitless. He was no good at ruling or any of the duties that came with being a lord. Jaime had half a mind to believe that Tywin had given up on making him a good ruler. Perhaps he planned for Kevan or Genna or one of his other uncles to rule in Jaime's stead when the time came. Needless to say, Jaime spent his days doing nothing but train in the tiltyard – his skill with a sword was much less useful now and training felt meaningless – and attend feasts and fuck his wife. The boredom was driving him insane.

He was on his fifth cup when his wife entered their chambers, closing the door quietly so she wouldn't wake him up. He grinned at her, basking in the shocked look on her face when she saw him.

"I thought you'd be asleep," she said bluntly. She had long given up on being formal with him, that was at least something he could be grateful for. Pleasantries were mind-numbing.

"Yet here I am. Very awake. Join me." He lifted his cup of ale before he downed half of it in one gulp.

"May I ask what has driven you to drink?" she questioned, lifting the pitcher from the table not to pour herself a drink, but to stiff it. She cringed at the smell. "That's strong."

"That's the point," Jaime assured her, drinking another quarter of his cup. Lyarra gave him a pointed look that made Jaime roll his eyes and give in. "Fine, fine. Gods, woman. You're a right nag. The reason I have turned to drink is simple." He paused for a second, for dramatic purposes. " _Boredom_."

"Boredom?" Lyarra repeated, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Boredom," he repeated, nodding. "You see, little wife, only months ago I was a knight of the Kingsguard. There were only seven of us in all of Westeros. How many heirs are there in Westeros? Well?"

The little wolf took a minute to think about it his question before she shrugged, exhaling a heavy sigh. "I don't know. How many?"

"I don't know either, that's how many! I tried to count, but there are too many, you see. I am one of, what, hundred heirs in Westeros? As a knight of the Kingsguard, I was different, above all the rest. Now I am a mere lord, just like everyone else. One of many heirs. Condemned to a lifetime of boredom." Jaime chuckled darkly. "Yet they keep telling me I made a mistake in joining the Kingsguard. Bullshit."

"Don't let your father hear you saying that," Lyarra replied, taking off her dress until all that remained was her smallclothes. Jaime could hear the laughter in her voice. "He'd be scandalised."

Jaime scoffed. "I don't care about what my father thinks. I don't care about what anyone thinks."

Lyarra stopped her scurrying about the room and stopped to stare at him, her eyes narrowed as she seemed to be sizing him up. Jaime found it unnerving. Finally, she shrugged and looked away. "Very well," was her long-awaited response.

Perhaps it was the wine or the rage he had felt earlier that day rising to the surface once more, but Jaime suddenly felt blinded by anger. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, trying his very best not to lash out on his wife. He _needed_ to shout or yell or hit something, but settled for growling at Lyarra as she went about tidying up the room.

"Why didn't you wake me this morning?" Jaime asked suddenly. The question startled Lyarra and made her turn around to face him again.

"When I woke up, I was told that my brother had been attacked by an assassin during the night and my mother had her hands cut open." She gave him a scathing look. "You feeling 'left out' wasn't exactly my priority."

"It ought to have been. You don't get to be privy to more information than I am," Jaime barked, rising to his feet and approaching Lyarra. He towered over her.

"It wasn't about that!" Lyarra exclaimed in exasperation. "You weren't on my mind at all. Don't turn this into something it's not."

"Your handmaiden told me that you gave her express instructions not to wake me," he seethed. "That doesn't sound like I completely slipped your mind. Speak plainly, Lyarra. Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying! Yes, I told her not to wake you up because it was not yet dawn and I didn't think you'd appreciate being woken up at such an hour," she explained, taking a step away from him. "Why are you acting like this, like I've done something terrible?"

"Because you did, Lyarra! You're my wife, for goodness sake, you don't get to know things that I don't!" he shouted, causing Lyarra to jump and look at with wide, frightened eyes. _She looks like a doe before being slaughtered._ Jaime came to his senses and regretted shouting at her, but pride stopped him from apologising.

Fear soon morphed to quiet acceptance, and Lyarra bowed her head as her shoulders fell, indicating her submission. "I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "I-" She sighed, deciding not to say what she had in mind, instead settling on repeating herself. "I'm sorry. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

As he watched her climb into bed without so much as another word shared between the two of them, Jaime felt a mixture of shock and guilt. Shock because he had thought Lyarra was too much of a spitfire to concede any argument and guilt because he had yelled at her and had made her look so small. Jaime took a while to gather himself and his thoughts before he joined her in the bed. He had his own bed in the room beside hers, but Jaime found himself sleeping in Lyarra's bed out of sheer habit.

His wife didn't say a word to him as he climbed into bed and silently blew out the candle beside her bed, leaving them both in darkness.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:** Things are about to get interesting! Next chapter Catelyn tells Lyarra of her suspicions of the Lannisters and their involvement in Bran's fall._

 ** _HPuni101_** _brought to my attention something that many of you might be confused by. Robb and Lyarra are in fact twins, but I'm going to imagine that Robb's birthday was just a week or two before the start of the first season. The main reason for this is that I want to have a birthday feast in Casterly Rock, haha._

 _Tell me what you think!_


	7. The Mother

**The Mother**

Following the attack, Catelyn had become a new woman. No longer would she wallow over her son's limp body, not when there were enemies in the very keep her and Bran were staying in. Her boy had never fallen before, had never even _slipped_! He was sure-footed and steady. Somebody must have pushed him, and Catelyn was going to find out who if it was the last thing she did.

She was standing in the courtyard, in the area where Bran's broken body had been found. Catelyn choked on a sob at the mere sight of the ground, remembering the fear and sheer melancholy she had felt upon finding her son – her precious boy – lying on the ground. She pushed back her feelings and forced herself to focus.

"Excuse me," she said to a passing servant.

"Lady Stark," the servant inclined his head in respect.

"I was just wondering... would you mind telling me who occupies the rooms on this side of the castle?" Catelyn asked the servant politely, pointing to the area of the keep that overlooked the sight of Bran's fall. The servant looked unsure. "Oh, forgive me. I was only wondering who was lucky enough to have such a fine view of the courtyard."

"Very well, my lady," he replied, nodding his head in submission. He pointed to the area she had indicated. "The first floor is the kitchen, the next two floors are the servant's quarters, the fourth the library, the fifth is just empty space that is rumoured to be a hidden passageway."

"And the sixth and seventh?" Catelyn pressed, knowing that if her son was pushed while climbing, given the damage done to his body he must have fallen from quite a height.

The servant narrowed his eyes in concentration. "Years ago they were Queen Cersei's bedchamber. I think she stayed in them again with her husband and children during her stay in Casterly Rock. They are fine chambers. They overlook the sea on one side, and the courtyard on the other."

"Thank you very much," Catelyn said gratefully, though her attention was not on the servant. She stared up at top floor, at the window where her son was most likely pushed out of. _Why? Why would she do it?_ The queen had given Catelyn her condolences and had told Catelyn of the death of her eldest child as a babe. She seemed so... genuine. _There are liars. These southerners don't even know how to speak truthfully._ The sooner she returned to Winterfell, the better.

Catelyn didn't give the servant a chance to reply and rushed up the stairs. The chambers that were once occupied by Cersei were now vacant, even though they were too extravagant in Catelyn's opinion to be left unoccupied. What a waste. She bent down on the floor and picked up a long strand of golden hair, stretching it out to get a better look. _Yes. Definitely the queen's._ Catelyn looked up, only a few feet away was the window. Catelyn walked towards the window, feeling herself tear up. This was where her boy met his fate. Where he was pushed. Catelyn's heart broke. _They will pay for this! If it's the last thing I do, the Lannisters will pay!_

No doubt Queen Cersei sent the assassin to finish the job. But why, why would the queen want to kill her son? Catelyn looked around the room for clues. She didn't know what she was hoping to find, but she looked anyway. She was sorely disappointed. Catelyn decided that there was nothing else she could do but guard Bran's body day and night until he woke up. When he woke, Catelyn would flee Casterly

* * *

"Lyarra. Lyarra, wake up!" She felt herself being shaken awake and woke with a start. She saw her mother bending over her bed, her face close to hers. Lyarra rubbed her eyes and looked at Catelyn groggily, too shocked to form a question. "Come with me. We must speak."

"What, what is it?" she mumbled, struggling to climb out of bed.

Her mother shushed her. "You mustn't wake Ser Jaime. Come quietly."

Lyarra glanced over her shoulder at her husband's sleeping form. He was fast asleep. Exhaling with relief, Lyarra stood and put on her slippers before following her mother out of the room. She was waddling, really. Jaime had been tireless when he came back from the tiltyard. They must have spent hours passionately fucking. Just thinking about how he took her made Lyarra blush. She shook her head, reminding herself that her mother obviously wanted to speak to her of something important. She suddenly felt bile rise up her throat, her stomach churning, but forced it back down her throat. Whatever her mother wanted to tell her, it was urgent. Lyarra didn't have time to vomit.

Her mother led her to Bran's room, speaking in a hushed tone as though the walls themselves had ears. "Bran has woken." Her face brightened with a smile. Lyarra found herself grinning wildly, her insides bursting with joy. "He is well, Lyarra, though I fear that he cannot feel his legs."

"Oh, Mother, that's great news!" Lyarra cried happily. Her mother shushed her, so Lyarra said in a much quieter tone. "That's great news. Have you sent for the maester?"

"No, I cannot. There are important things we must discuss, Lyarra, about House Lannister. They cannot be trusted," Catelyn explained. She opened the door to Bran's room and allowed Lyarra to rush inside. There sat her brother, propped up in his bed with his direwolf sprawled over his lap.

"I've named him Summer," Bran told her, stroking his direwolf's fur.

Lyarra could not contain herself any longer. Filled with joy and relief, she ran to him. "Oh, Bran!" she exclaimed as she threw herself on top of him in a tight embrace. Bran did not respond, his body was still. Hot tears fell down her cheeks.

"I can't feel my legs, Lya," Bran replied weakly, choking on tears. Lyarra pulled away from him and sat by his bedside, taking his hand in hers. "I'm a cripple. I'll never walk again."

"But you're alive," Lyarra reminded him. It was a weak argument to Bran, but to Lyarra it meant everything.

"I'd rather be dead," Bran spat, a dark look on his face as he turned away from her, staring out the window.

Her mother gasped from behind Lyarra and was quick to chastise him. "Bran, you mustn't say such things. The gods had given you life. You were... I thought..." Catelyn sobbed and turned away from them, trying to gather herself before she said anymore.

Ashamed, Bran stared at his hand and Lyarra's. "I didn't mean to make Mother upset."

"I know you didn't," Lyarra assured him. She ran her fingers through his hair as a means to console him and gave him a kind smile. "But Mother is right, you know. We were all so worried, Bran. That you would..." she trailed off and gulped, choosing not to finish the sentence. "That doesn't matter now. You're alive. You may be crippled, but you're alive. Life is full of possibilities, even if you can't use your legs."

"I'll never be a knight," he lamented, tears gathering in his eyes. "I'll never ride a horse again, or shoot an arrow. I'll never climb again! What's the point of living if I can do so little?"

"Oh, Bran." Lyarra's voice cracked. _I mustn't cry. I must be strong for Bran and Mother._ Father had often called her softness both a gift and a curse. Lyarra could never contain her feelings. She squeezed Bran's hand. "You can still read and learn. You always liked learning about history. You can still do that."

"I suppose..." Bran allowed. He opened his mouth to say something else, but hesitated before closing it. Their mother took the opportunity to speak again.

"Bran and I are leaving tonight, before the castle wakes," Catelyn informed her.

She spun around to face her mother. "What?"

"It's not safe for him here," Catelyn went on. She took a seat on the chair at the end of Bran's bed. "I have reason to believe that the Lannisters were behind his fall. That would mean that they also sent the assassin to finish the job."

"What? That's absurd! Why would they do that?" Lyarra exclaimed, staring at her lady mother with wide, frightened eyes.

"I don't know. I don't know why the Lannisters would want to kill an innocent boy, and Bran remembers nothing," Catelyn gave her son a pitiful look before turning back to Lyarra, determination etched on her face. "But I spoke with a servant today. Bran was found in the courtyard, near the east wing of the castle. Cersei Lannister's room overlooks the courtyard. Her rooms were on the sixth and seventh floors."

Silently, Lyarra mulled over what her mother had said. "It could have been her servants."

"Perhaps," her mother allowed, "but where the queen slept was on the very highest floor. And the position of her window aligns perfectly with the sight of Bran's fall. Only a few feet away from the window, I found a strand of long golden hair. Who else's could it be but the queen's?" Catelyn paused. "Every piece of evidence points to the queen being involved. The only questions are why did she do it and whether anyone else was involved. Perhaps Bran saw something he shouldn't have."

"Like what?" Lyarra prompted. It was all sounding very possible to Lyarra now. She was becoming scared. _This is the family I have married into. This is my family now._ She would have to live among the Lannisters. Lyarra hoped that it was the queen alone who harmed Bran.

"The king and queen's marriage is a loveless one. The king humiliates her by bedding every willing woman he possibly can. It would not be unreasonable to think that Cersei might... look to other men to satisfy her needs," her mother explained. "As well as get some sort of vengeance against the king. Cersei is a prideful creature. Even a hidden, secret slight would give her some sort of unspoken victory."

"What are you going to do?" Lyarra asked, feeling angry now. That wretched woman made her brother a cripple! "You cannot let her get away with it!"

"She is the queen. I can do very little," Catelyn admitted. "But we cannot stay here, in her place of birth. The Lannisters are loyal to her, of course. Bran is not safe here."

"But I cannot leave. I am married to Ser Jaime," she reminded her mother.

Catelyn responded with a sorry smile. "You will not be coming with us, Lyarra. Your place is here, with your husband. You bear the Lannister name now. They will not harm you."

Her vision suddenly became blurred with tears. She blinked them away, only for more to rush to her eyes. "So you're leaving me?"

"Yes. I fear I must," Catelyn told her. "You are bound by duty – and by the gods themselves – to stay in this keep with Ser Jaime. If I could, I would gladly let you come with us. But doing so would only cause further strife between Houses Stark and Lannister, and we cannot afford that."

She had lost Robb and Rickon, and Father and the girls, in the space of two weeks. Lyarra felt her heart breaking. Her cheeks were wet. She wiped her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat. "He's only just woke up, and you would take him from me again?"

"I must, Lyarra. Don't you see?" Catelyn gave her son a sorry look. He too looked reluctant to leave Lyarra. "He is not safe here."

"I understand," Lyarra said. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."

She bid goodbye to them in the stables. Bran had been stuffed into a wheelbarrow which would be pushed by the remaining Stark guardsmen. She kissed her brother on the forehead, and then twice on both his cheeks. "Goodbye, Bran." She almost started crying again. Gods, she had shed so many tears in the last two weeks that she wondered if there was any water left inside her.

"Goodbye, Lya," Bran replied, sobbing. "Promise me you'll come to Winterfell to see me. Please."

"As soon as I can," she promised and squeezed his hand reassuringly. She gave the guard a nod, giving him permission to start wheeling the wheelbarrow. She turned to her mother. "I trust you have a plan?"

"I'm going to bring Bran to Riverrun. I'm sure my uncle will be willing to take him to Winterfell from there. I must go to King's Landing to show an old friend of mine this," Catelyn showed her the Valyrian steel dagger. "Petyr Baelish will know who it belongs to."

"And then what?" Lyarra pressed.

"I don't know," Catelyn admitted, shrugging. She gave her daughter a sad smile. "War, perhaps."

"So we are to be on opposite sides." Lyarra suddenly felt like a child again, desperate for her mother. She felt the urge to clutch onto her mother's skirts and never let go. "I'm afraid, Mother."

"Oh, my dear child." Catelyn wrapped her arms around Lyarra and kissed her cheek. Lyarra leaned into her mother's touch and held onto her for dear life. "You're a strong girl. You'll get through this. When this is all over, we'll see each other again. That's a promise, sweetling."

Lyarra laughed humourlessly. "Another promise. I have made and been given so many empty promises in the last few weeks. Don't promise me anything, Mother. I can't bear anymore disappointments."

"Very well," Catelyn agreed, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind Lyarra's ear. "I _hope_ that when this is all over, we'll see each other again. I wish you all the happiness in the world, my love."

"Goodbye, Mother." Why were goodbyes so difficult? Lyarra swallowed again. She would not cry again, she promised herself. But as soon as she saw her mother start to cry, Lyarra started crying as well. She almost had to tear herself away from her mother's embrace. She watched the Stark guards and her mother and brother leave Casterly Rock, clad in only her robe and slippers, and allowed herself to cry.

She managed to sneak into her bedroom without waking Jaime. Her husband wasn't usually a heavy sleeper, but Lyarra accidentally dropped a vase on the floor in her rush to get to the chamber pot and empty the rest of her dinner from the night before, yet Jaime was still asleep when she checked him. She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, only to be woken two hours later by the shouts of her lord husband.

"LYARRA!" she heard him yell. Lyarra woke with a start, the memories of what had occurred the night before flooding back to her. Her mother and Bran... gone. But Bran was alive, that much she could be glad of. Jaime stormed towards the bed, an expression of anger on his face as he glowered at her. "Where are they?"

Feigning confusion, Lyarra asked him tiredly as she climbed out of bed. "Where are who?"

"Don't play stupid with me, Lyarra. It doesn't suit you," Jaime chastised sharply, towering over her as she sat on the edge of the bed. "Your mother and Bran. Where are they?"

"What? What happened to them?" Lyarra lied, seeming more and more panicked. She had never been a good liar, but for the sake of her mother and brother, she would have to be.

Jaime didn't seem to believe her. "Come now, Lyarra! You must know. Catelyn Stark wouldn't flee in the middle of the night without saying goodbye to you!" He was becoming more exasperated with her, and more worried too. He was _very_ worried. Lyarra wondered why. _Perhaps he had a hand in Bran's crippling._ No. Lyarra refused to believe it. "So quit playing the fool, why did they leave?"

"I don't know!" she exclaimed. "I don't know. Stop yelling at me!" She saw guilt flash across his face, so Lyarra continued speaking, sounding more confident. "What does it matter anyway? They weren't prisoners."

"Of course not," Jaime agreed with a sigh, sitting in the chair beside the fire. Lyarra pulled her robe over her smallclothes, noticing that Jaime too was only in his smallclothes. "Your mother left in the dead of night without so much as a letter to explain herself. You see how that's worrying, don't you?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, taking in how panicked he looked again. "What harm can a woman and son and their half a dozen guards do to your family?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all," he agreed. "What is worrisome is if my lady wife knew about her mother running away during the night and chose to lie to her lord husband." He glared at her. "Did your mother say anything... strange to you in the last few days?"

"Like what, _lord husband_?" Lyarra mocked.

"You know what I mean," Jaime said sharply. Lyarra startled at the aggression in his voice.

"No. Nothing. She barely spoke to me when I went to visit Bran," Lyarra admitted. She spoke truthfully. Catelyn had seldom said a word to Lyarra during her visits to Bran's room, preferring to keep staring at Bran's lifeless form. Lyarra narrowed her eyes at him accusingly. "Why are you so worried?"

"I am not-"

"Speak truthfully," Lyarra interrupted him, "it is crime to lie to your _lady wife_." The way she said the two words made Jaime chuckle, despite his angry and worried disposition.

"I am speaking truthfully," Jaime swore. He stood up and walked towards the door that adjoined his bedroom to hers. "Get dressed. My father will no doubt want to speak with you."

"No doubt," Lyarra grumbled. Tywin Lannister would give her the same accusations that Jaime just had. She had done enough lying for one day. Without another word, Jaime disappeared inside his room. Lyarra sighed heavily and started undressing herself. She picked up one of her new southern dresses and held it out in front of her, staring at the complicated laces at the back. As though on cue, Rhea rushed into the room the very moment Lyarra began to attempt putting in on.

"Lord Tywin wishes to see you, my lady," Rhea told her. Lyarra groaned, expecting to be told as much. Rhea looked at Lyarra's reflection in the mirror quizzically as she finished lacing her purple southern dress. "It sounded urgent."

"Everything with that man is urgent," Lyarra complained. She had begun to feel much contempt towards the Lannisters since learning about the queen's involvement in Bran's crippling. Lyarra realised that what she just said could get her into a lot of trouble and quickly added, "Forgive me, Rhea. I am tired and grouchy."

Rhea nodded. "Understandably, my lady. I'm sorry about your mother and brother. It must be hard for you, what with them fleeing without saying so much as a farewell." Rhea was watching her reaction closely. Lyarra wondered, not for the first time, if she was a Lannister spy.

"It is hard," Lyarra agreed. "I'm more angry than anything, but life goes on, does it not? I'm sure my mother had her reasons."

"Do you know what they might be?" Rhea inquired, pretending to seem nonchalant by focusing on tidying Lyarra's vanity.

She narrowed her eyes at her handmaiden. _Your Tywin's. You've always been Tywin's._ Lyarra hated herself for not realising sooner. "Not a clue. If that is all, Rhea, I should like to be alone."

"But your hair-"

"I can do it myself. I'm not an imbecile," Lyarra snapped. She regretted her harsh words as soon as they came out of her lips. _I'm becoming like Jaime, inconsiderate and quick to anger._ She gave her handmaiden an apologetic smile. "Thank you, Rhea."

Giving her mistress a low curtsy before leaving, Rhea looked close to tears. Lyarra groaned and buried her face in her hands. She felt herself becoming someone she sincerely was not. She had never been rude to anyone in her life. Lady Catelyn had raised her daughters to be polite and respectful, yet the south and her lord husband had made Lyarra forget her mother's teachings. Lyarra vowed to remember them.

Just as she expected, her meeting with Tywin Lannister went the same as her conversation with Jaime, except Lyarra forced herself to be a little more polite. She was only out the door when vomit rose up her throat again. She bent over and emptied the contents of her stomach to the floor as Lord Tywin's watched, disgust evident on their faces.

"Don't just stare, you fools," Lyarra heard a woman chide the guards. "Clean this mess up, or get someone else to do it." Lyarra wiped the vomit from her mouth and turned around, seeing Jaime's aunt Genna Lannister who gave her a kind smile. "Come now, Lady Lannister. You'll break your fast with me this morning."

Lyarra didn't have time to object, as Genna had linked her arm in Lyarra's and was escorting her towards the west wing of the castle. Lyarra liked the woman well enough, even if she was a Lannister. She was kind and funny, but extremely intelligent and witty as well. Lyarra couldn't wait until she reached an age where she could speak frankly and not be judged. It seemed glorious.

"How long have you been getting sick everywhere?" Genna asked bluntly.

"Two days, I think. It's only gotten bad since last night after dinner. I don't think I have any dinner left in me," Lyarra joked, but Genna did not laugh. Her face was one of concentration as she stared at Lyarra. "It's only an illness. It will pass."

"You have no idea, do you?" Lyarra looked at her blankly, confused at what she was implying. "Oh, to be young and inexperienced. I have half a mind to think you are with child. When was the last time you bled?"

She stopped in her tracks. "Since before my wedding." No, it couldn't be... she couldn't be... Lyarra had dismissed her late moonblood as a coincidence, though between her late moonblood and her frequent sickness, Lyarra had to admit that it was likely. "Oh."

"'Oh,' indeed," Genna laughed. "Come now. We'll get some food into you and then we'll visit the maester for confirmation. Do you like lemoncakes, Lyarra?"

Lemoncakes, for _breakfast_? These southerners truly were strange. Far be it from Lyarra to reject the customs of her new home. "I love them. Thank you, my lady."

"None of that. Call me 'Aunt Genna.'" She smiled kindly down at Lyarra. "I never thought I'd see Jaime become a father, yet I am pleasantly surprised! I suspect it's a boy. But if it's a girl... I tell you, Jaime better name it after me!" Genna chuckled to herself. Lyarra was practically frozen with fear, though her legs kept moving. "You look terrified, dear. I promise you, raising children is not as difficult as it means. We noblewomen have servants to do it for us."

Lyarra nodded meekly. She wanted to be a better mother than that. Lady Catelyn had a hand in raising her children, but the older she became the less time she had for her children, leaving Lyarra to fill in as a mother for Bran and especially Rickon. She wanted to be a good mother, an attentive mother.

After an eventful breakfast with Genna (which involved mostly her new 'aunt' ranting about the lords and ladies of the Westerlands and telling Lyarra stories about Jaime as a child), Genna brought her to Maester Creylen. The old man was kind and gentle with her, though Lyarra hated having her stomach prodded at. When he was finished, he smiled up at Lyarra and gave her a firm nod that made her stomach lurch.

"Lady Lannister is with child," Creylen stated. "Ser Jaime will be overjoyed."

Ser Jaime... Lyarra had begun to think about Ser Jaime. She was too focused on the fact that she had a person _growing_ inside of her, a person that she would someday soon have to expel from her body. Her stomach would balloon, not to mention the countless of other changes that were going to happen to her body. Lyarra was a small woman. How was she supposed to support another life inside of her?

She lurched forward and vomited into Maester Creylen's bucket of medical supplies. Once she was finished, she looked up at him gingerly and started apologising until she started crying. She insisted on helping him wash the vials the medicine was in.

"You're a welcome change to Casterly Rock, Lady Lannister," Creylen noted as they washed the last few vials. "I've had kind mistress and clever mistresses, but very few have offered to help me clean."

Lyarra chuckled. "I wouldn't expect anyone to have to wash my vomit." She cringed, remembering when she had vomited outside Lord Tywin's solar earlier that day. "Well, not hand-wash anyway."

"Still, it's a welcome change," Creylen repeated, giving her another kind smile.

She ignored her husband for the rest of the day. Lyarra would only tell Ser Jaime when she could bear to say the words without vomiting, which wasn't going to be for a day or two, _at least_. The thought of having a child frightened her. It was all happening too soon! She was only just getting used to being a wife and the lady of Casterly Rock, and now she would have to be a mother as well.

But she didn't have a choice, Lyarra mused as she lay in bed that night, her hand resting on her flat stomach. The gods had saw it fit to give her a child, to make her a mother. She glanced towards Jaime's sleeping form and wondered how he'd react to the news. Would he be happy? Would he see the child in her belly as some sort of accomplishment – a child to keep his father happy for a little while? _Will he be relieved that he won't have to bed me anymore?_ It wasn't that Lyarra enjoyed being bedded – honestly, she found their encounters quite awkward and tense – but she often wondered if Jaime saw bedding her as a duty, or if he enjoyed it.

Everyone else would be pleased, that was for sure. Lord Tywin would be _delighted –_ perhaps the news might get a smile out of the grumpy lord. _What a silly thought._ Lyarra could scarcely imagine the Old Lion smiling. _Will Jaime smile when I tell him? Will our child mean anything to him at all?_ Lyarra shook her head. What did it matter to her what Jaime thought? She didn't even know how _she_ felt about the whole situation.

 _There's a little baby inside of me._ Lyarra grinned, clutching the fabric of her nightdress at her stomach. The thought amazed and frightened her at the same time. For the first time, Lyarra drifted off to sleep with her hand resting on her stomach.


	8. To Build A Home

**Author's Note:** I was determined to get this chapter out before Christmas and for once I actually met that goal! I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

 **To Build A Home**

Lyarra knew that her time-frame for telling Jaime was small. Genna had, no doubt, already told Lord Tywin. Knowing how Jaime felt about being kept out of the know, Lyarra understood that she had to be the one to tell him. _Or risk sparking his temper again._ She hated walking on eggshells around Jaime, constantly worrying about angering him, but she didn't see that changing any time soon.

She nibbled on her slice of bacon, feeling vomit rise up her throat at the mere smell of food. These southern portions were too large and too rich. Even when she wasn't ailing from pregnancy, Lyarra found it difficult to eat a full southern meal, but having been raised in the north where food was a lot less plentiful, Lyarra loathed to waste it so she kept stuffing her mouth. Lyarra glanced at her husband, who was too preoccupied with his own breakfast to notice her looking at him, and sneakily fed Fang a slice of bacon.

Taking in a deep breath to calm her nerves, Lyarra opened her mouth to speak. She only managed to speak one word, "I," before she felt vomit rushing up her throat. She dashed to the chamberpot and knelt before it, emptying her stomach's contents. When she was finished, she was surprised to find Jaime standing over her, looking worried. He offered her his hand to help her up.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, concerned.

 _This wasn't how I planned to tell him, but it seems my stomach had other ideas._ Lyarra nodded and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. "I... I went to the maester yesterday. Your aunt Genna thought..." Lyarra trailed off, not sure of what to say, so she decided to blurt in one quick breath, "I'm with child."

The look on his face would have been comical had Lyarra not been so anxious about his reaction. His eyes were wide like saucers and his jaw had dropped ever so slightly. For once, he seemed lost for words. "You are?"

"I am," she replied weakly and mustered a similarly weak smile.

He said nothing in response, eyes narrowed in thought as he stared at her flat stomach. Lyarra suddenly felt very self-conscious. She watched him anxiously, waiting for him to say something, _anything_. Was he not happy? Perhaps he thought it was too soon as well.

He opened his mouth to say something before hesitating and closing it again. Lyarra's vision became blurred with tears. She blinked them away quickly, becoming frustrated with how emotional she was these days. _He's not happy,_ Lyarra thought, unconsciously taking a step away from him. _I don't want to raise a child alone!_ Some of her fears were ridiculous, Lyarra would admit that, but her biggest fear was a reasonable one – she didn't want to be her baby's only loving parent, not when she herself didn't have a clue about raising children!

"You're not happy," Lyarra stated when the silence became too much. A sob itched at her throat, but she forced it down with a large gulp.

Jaime shook his head vehemently, finally looking up at Lyarra's face instead of her stomach. "I didn't say that. I am... I am not unhappy. Don't think that." He paused for a minute before asking, "Are you unhappy?"

His question shocked her. Not once had anyone asked her how she felt. They just _expected_ her to be happy, expected her to suddenly love the child she was carrying. But so far Lyarra viewed the baby in her stomach as a completely different entity – an invader, almost. Sure, she was sometimes amazed by the fact that she had helped create a living human, but Lyarra hadn't felt anything past that.

"I don't know how I feel." She let out a small sigh. "It's so soon."

"I thought women liked babies," Jaime commented.

Lyarra chuckled. She did like babies, but apparently she preferred the babies that didn't belong to her. "We do. Most do. I don't know. Perhaps it's just the shock."

"How long have you known?" he asked her, eyes lowered to her stomach once again. "How long have you been with child? _My_ child, good gods..."

"I've only known since yesterday," Lyarra told him, chewing at her lower lip. "I think it's been a month."

"Our wedding night," Jaime stated.

"I think so," she agreed. Her mother became pregnant with Lyarra and Robb on her wedding night. Tully women must simply be very fertile. Lyarra began to loath her own fertility. She didn't want to end up birthing ten children because of her over-excited womb, even if that was what was expected of her. She'd heard her mother screaming while birthing Rickon. Childbirth was painful and it certainly was not something Lyarra wanted to experience very often.

But as Lyarra watched Jaime's face break into grin as he looked at her still flat stomach, she wondered if the pain would be worth it. _Perhaps that's why wives are so eager to give their husband children._ His large grin, so unlike his usual cocky smirk, made Lyarra's heart flutter and jump with happiness.

"We'll announce it tomorrow night, at your nameday feast," Jaime told her, still grinning like a madman. "I'm going to tell my father now and make the arrangements." He pressed a kiss to her forehead before rushing out of the room. The action made Lyarra blush. She began to wonder, not for the first time, if they weren't so badly matched after all. Jaime could make her so happy, and she liked to think that she did the same for him as well.

Startled by her own thoughts, Lyarra's eyes widened with realisation. She was letting him into her heart. This ill-tempered, unreliable, arrogant man whose personality seemed to change by the day... how could she be so foolish? She was not Sansa. Lyarra never thought she could be swayed by a few pretty words and tender actions. Yet here she was, swooning over a kiss!

She retreated back to her bedroom and looked into the mirror of her vanity, staring at her flat stomach and wondering if her child could mean so much more to her and Jaime than she originally thought.

* * *

What was originally meant to be a small gathering of close family members turned into a lavish feast that every western lord and his wife were invited to. Jaime knew well what his father was up to. He wanted everyone to know that the future of House Lannister was now a stable one. For years, his father was left without an heir. Tywin Lannister now not only had an heir in Jaime, but he had a fertile daughter-in-law that would no doubt give House Lannister the heirs it desperately needed.

And Lord Tywin wanted everyone of his bannermen to know that.

Jaime and his wife were seated at his father's right-hand side at the head table which overlooked the Great Hall. As usual, his father spared no expense. The food was delicious and exotic and the musicians were too skilled to be performing for a mere nameday feast. _But this is more than a mere nameday feast,_ Jaime reminded himself. _This is a celebration of Tywin Lannister's own personal victory. His precious legacy is now secure._ All it had taken was a squirt of seed up his wife's cunt to earn his father's approval and love. He'd have to tell Tyrion that the secret to earning Tywin's approval was successful impregnation.

"Whose that?" he heard his wife whisper and urged himself to ignore his bitter thoughts.

She nodded towards a fat man that Jaime recognised. He grinned to himself. "Ah, yes. That's Lord Lefford, I think. His face is a bit lost in all his cheek fat. I can't quite tell. Why do you ask?"

"He's been glaring at you and your father for the last twenty minutes," Lyarra told him.

"Of course he is, the miserable bastard. There's been an issue between him and my father. Lord Lefford believes that he's paying too much tax to House Lannister. It's silly business, really," Jaime trailed off, thinking that his young wife would be bored by the subject matter. When he looked at her, however, her eyes were alight with interest. So he continued. "The Leffords are in the possession of many very profitable mines situated in their region. My father owns large shares in these mines that were passed down from his father and his father's father before him. Lord Lefford thinks that, because my father is profiting more from the mines than he is, his rate of tax should be reduced."

"It's a fair point," Lyarra granted.

"Yes, it is," he said, watching her carefully. "But not one that would benefit House Lannister. My father has disagreed, of course. And Lord Lefford has said nothing more on the subject, choosing instead to seethe silently. What a man." Jaime scoffed, glaring at Lord Lefford.

"It surprises me that he'd have the gall to speak of such things to your father," Lyarra whispered, wary that his father was seated on Jaime's left.

"It surprised me too," Jaime agreed. "But the man was desperate. See the woman beside him." Jaime glanced pointedly towards the blonde woman whispering into Lord Lefford's ear. His wife followed his gaze. "That's his new wife. Lady Alys, I think. His third wife. He's very fond of her, but she is very demanding. Not all young wives are as easy to please as you are, Lyarra. I suppose I should consider myself lucky."

She grinned at him. "You're welcome."

"She's much younger than him. And far prettier, obviously. Thirty years his junior." Jaime grinned back at her. "I'd imagine knowing that would make you feel rather fortunate."

"Nonsense," his wife disagreed. Her grin was contagious. "I may be younger, but no one can doubt that you are far prettier than I."

A booming laugh escaped his lips, causing many lords to turn to look at him. "Who knew that someone with Ned Stark's blood could have a sense of humour?"

Lyarra scoffed, pretending to be more offended than she was. "Who knew that Jaime Lannister was such a terrible gossip?"

He was about to respond with an equally witty retort when he heard his father beckon his attention. Jaime turned around, a smile still on his lips, and listened to his stern father. "Now," his father stated.

"Now what?" Jaime asked, confused.

Tywin narrowed his eyes at his eldest son. "Make the announcement."

"I'm making it?"

"Yes, you are," Tywin said slowly, irritation sharp in his voice. "Now, get up and make the announcement before she has the damn child."

Jaime rolled his eyes at his father's impatience and stood up, the scraping of his chair against the floor as he pushed it backwards succeeded in silencing the room. It thrilled him somewhat – the power he had over his father's bannermen – yet he still longed for the life of a knight. Nothing thrilled him like fighting could.

"As you all know, we've gathered here tonight to celebrate my wife's nameday." He refused to say what age she was, in fear of feeling like Lord Lefford. He placed his left hand and Lyarra's shoulder and gave it a fond squeeze. "But I would also like to make an important announcement. It brings me great joy to inform you all that my wife is with child. House Lannister is expecting yet another member!"

The way he was expected to speak sickened him, but he grinned nonetheless. Because even though Jaime loathed the life of a lord, he was looking forward to meeting his child – the first child he could openly love. Lyarra placed her hand on top of his and looked up at him, smiling. The sight made his stomach flutter.

The feeling started him, as did the burst of fondness he suddenly felt for his young wife. It should be normal, for a husband to grow to like his wife, but Jaime never considered himself to be normal. In fact, he prided himself in being anything but.

Yet as he looked down at Lyarra Stark, he wondered if this life – that was chosen for him by a self-indulging king – would be better than he originally thought. It was certainly becoming increasingly difficult to think otherwise.

* * *

As his wife read to him as though he was a child, Jaime found himself focusing instead on the bump forming from her stomach, where _his_ child was growing. The thought made him smile. He tried to listen to her, he truly did. After all, she had offered to read to him as a favour, knowing how he struggled with reading. It was his father who insisted he read the works of Maester Ormond which focused on ruling and battle strategy. His father thought, perhaps correctly, that Jaime was worryingly inexperienced in both leadership and battle strategy. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, the theory of leadership never quite interested him as it seemed to interest his father and, by the looks of it, his little wife.

"Despite the general consensus amongst experienced and knowledgeable battle commanders that infantry are mere pawns whose duty is to exhaust the enemy by allowing their lack of training and skill to cause their demise, therefore tiring the enemy, it is to be noted that infantry is undoubtedly the most important element of any army because of their cheapness in comparison to cavalry and their ability to be deployed on any terrain. The contrast between skilled and unskilled infantry is the difference between success in battle and a loss. It is advisable for any intelligent military commander or general to invest in their infantry, as no man is to be employed in the field who is not trained and tested in discipline. To do so is detrimental to the success of an army." Although it took Lyarra quite some time to notice his disinterest, when she did she fixed him with a most heated glare. Jaime smiled innocently. "Are you even listening?"

"I was," he replied earnestly, "but then I became preoccupied with other, more important matters."

"Oh, like what?" Lyarra indulged, allowing herself to laugh at Jaime's antics.

"Like how adorable you are," he winked at her and gave her a cheeky grin to make his very unusual statement more in tune with his usual demeanour.

Lyarra gave him a disapproving look, but laughed nonetheless. "Flattery won't get you anywhere."

"I mean it," Jaime assured her. He was beginning to truly enjoy his wife's company. In the last four months, without the interference of any person or problems, they had grown to like each other, which was more than Jaime had ever expected. Jaime smiled at her. "Pregnancy becomes you. Though you've always been adorable. Like a little doll." He remembered his sister calling her a doll. Cersei meant it as an insult, but Jaime found the term to be endearing.

"That's horrible," Lyarra exclaimed, giggling.

"In a good way," he promised.

"How can that be meant in a good way?" she challenged.

Shrugging, Jaime added, "It just is. You're glowing." His wife looked shocked at his compliment. Compliments from Jaime were rare and seldom, but he supposed that made them all the more special. Or so he hoped.

"Thank you, I think," Lyarra said, her tone unsure but merry. She turned her head to smile at him before focusing on the book again. "Now, can we get back to-"

"What's it like?" Jaime interrupted before she could continue, his eyes locked on her stomach. He was both curious and eager to delay any further reading from that dreadful book.

Sighing, Lyarra turned her attention to him again. "What's what like?"

"Being pregnant," he answered simply, nodding towards her bump. "Doesn't it feel funny? Having a human inside of you. It's rather like an invasion of privacy." Jaime had always wondered what pregnancy was like for women ever since his own mother was pregnant with Tyrion. He hadn't thought to ask his mother, and Cersei had never been the most approachable nor the most willing to answer questions like that.

"No, not really," she admitted, smiling as she glanced down at her stomach, one of her hands resting on the bump. "Now that I'm not vomiting everywhere, I barely even notice. Well, apart from the bump growing out of my stomach."

"I didn't think you minded your bump," Jaime quipped. "You seem to put it to good use. You're not even that big yet and you're already managing to use your stomach as a table."

Lyarra grinned at him. "It's not as easy as I make it look. You have to really wedge it in there." Jaime winked at her, his mind going to all sorts of decrepit places. Lyarra rolled her eyes, laughing. "You _are_ horrible."

"You know," Jaime started, chuckling to himself, "I think I'd rather like to be pregnant."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes," he replied, turning his head to look at his wife, a large grin on his face. "I've seen how you have used it to your advantage. Your stomach is, for all intents and purposes, a table; I dare say that at this point every man in the castle held a door open for you at least once; nobody ever asks you to do any heavy lifting-"

"Did they ever?" Lyarra argued.

"Or bend over," Jaime stated suggestively, a smirk on his lips as he raised one eyebrow. "Or _kneel_."

She understood his meaning quickly. Lyarra was getting used to him and his ways. Had he made a joke like that when they first married, she wouldn't have understood it at all. Yet her reaction remained the same. She punched him playfully on the shoulder, making him laugh heartily. "You're terrible!"

"You've gotten away with a lot in the past few months. And we're only half way through your pregnancy," Jaime joked. "Have you given any thought to what you'd like to call it?"

"It?" she repeated. She hated when he called the child in her belly an 'it.' Sometimes Jaime purposely referred to the baby as an 'it' just to annoy her.

This time, Jaime gave in and corrected himself. "Him or her."

Lyarra smiled, having gotten her way and finally answered his questioned. "No, not at all, really. Have you?" She asked him in a tone full of surprise.

"Yes," he answered. The look on her face was one he expected, full of surprise. "Why do you look so surprised?" Though he already knew the answer. Of course, Jaime didn't seem like the man to get excited over having a child. Had he been the same man he was a decade ago, Jaime wouldn't have been excited at all. Perhaps it was age that mellowed him and made him an eager father. Jaime didn't know, but he was glad of the change, whatever had caused it.

"I'm not," his wife insisted. Jaime gave her a look of disbelief. "I'm impressed, actually. Go on. What have you come up with?"

"Just the one." He paused, feeling himself become more serious. "If the child is a girl, I'd like to name her Joanna. After my mother. If you agree, of course." It had long been a wish of his, ever since his mother had died, to honour her memory by naming his firstborn daughter after her. Of course, when he was little he hadn't considered that his theoretical future wife might have an opinion.

Sympathy. That was what he saw when he looked into his wife's eyes. Sympathy and understanding. It confused him how he could be both pleased and irritated by her sharp contrast to Cersei. They were polar opposites, yet he managed to love Cersei and get on well with Lyarra. "Of course I agree," she replied.

Jaime smiled at her. "So, to keep things fair, I was thinking that since I've decided on the name if it–" Seeing his wife's glare, he quickly corrected, "– _the baby–_ is a girl, then you should decide on the name if it's–" Though he was becoming frustrated with her sharp glares, Jaime corrected himself, _again_ , "– _the baby –_ is a boy."

"I think that's very fair," she agreed, subconsciously touching her stomach. "Though I can't think of any boy's names."

"You have many brothers to name him after," Jaime suggested. He then grumbled underneath his breath, "Your father too, if you must." He wouldn't be too pleased with his son being called after Ned Stark, of all people, but if that's what Lyarra decided, then in the name of fairness he would have to agree.

"I don't think your father would be very happy with his grandchild bearing a Stark name." Jaime had thought of that as well, and found that he didn't really care anymore about what might upset his father.

He scoffed. "My father doesn't have to be happy with everything. Only a few months ago, he had no heir. Now he has me and another heir on the way. He can learn how to be grateful."

"Speaking of learning..." Lyarra trailed off and pointedly opened the book that was sitting on her lap. Jaime groaned, causing Lyarra to give him a stern look. _I swear. In another life,_ _Lyarra Stark_ _was a maester._

"Must we?"

"Yes, we must."

Jaime smirked at his young wife. "As much as I would love to listen to you drone on about strategy, I believe we could spend our night doing something far more entertaining."

Intrigued, Lyarra indulged him. "Oh?"

"Oh," Jaime repeated, still smirking as he grabbed the book out of her hands and placed it on the floor beside him. He engulfed Lyarra in a heated kiss, only breaking away from her for a quick second to blow out the candle on her bedside locker.


	9. Dark Horse

**Author's Note:** I've surprised myself by updating twice in one week! I'm on holidays at the moment so I'm trying to write a few chapters for all my stories before school starts again. Also, I started a Daenerys/OC fanfiction that's on chapter four at the moment which features Robert's brother Lyonel as an OC. It's called _A Storm of Fire._ If you like Baratheon OCs, then check it out!

Anyway, here's chapter nine!

* * *

 **Dark Horse**

Lyarra's head was becoming sore from all the numbers. She was finishing off the accounts for that week. Managing the accounts of Casterly Rock was a duty she shared with the steward. While she kept track of the money coming and going out of the castle, Gerold Peckledon was in charge of keeping track of their finances on a wider scale. He managed the accounts for Casterly Rock and also the Westerlands as a region. Although Lyarra had always enjoyed accounting, her pregnancy was making her tired and unable concentrate as well as she used to. _Perhaps it's time to ask Peckledon to take over completely._ Before she could finish her thought, she heard someone barging into her solar and looked up immediately. Jaime stood before her desk, looking angry.

Growing fed up of his mood-swings, Lyarra snapped at him, "What is it now?"

"Your mother has kidnapped my brother," he told her, tossing the letter on the desk in front of her. Lyarra picked it up and leaned back in the chair, scanning through the letter. "She believes that House Lannister has wronged House Stark. Where would she get that idea?"

"I don't know, Jaime," Lyarra snapped back.

"Before your mother left with the boy-"

" _Bran_."

Jaime rolled his eyes and continued on. "Did she say anything to you? Anything at all?" Lyarra placed the letter on the desk in front of her. She looked up at him, her eyes blazing as her blood boiled with anger. Jaime glared back at her. "Don't lie to me, Lyarra."

"I told you before and I will tell you again," Lyarra said slowly, her voice low and dangerous. "My mother and I did not exchange so much as a single word the night she left." She was interrupted by a loud groan coming from Jaime as he grabbed roughly at the hair on his head. She added frustratedly, "I'm not lying!"

"You do realise how serious this is, don't you? Your mother has taken my brother, _without reason_. If we were to know what your mother thinks she knows, then perhaps we could reason with her and Tyrion would be freed. If you were to just tell me, we could avoid war!"

Lyarra narrowed her eyes at him. Did he think she was a simpleton? Or a child, perhaps. "Why are you so worried? Did you do something that has you on edge?"

He pointed his finger at her, an angry scowl on his face as he struggled to keep himself from shouting, " _I_ have done nothing, wife. Whatever you and your mother think you know-"

"Like what?" Lyarra stood up, gripping the edge of the table. She watched Jaime closely as he paced up and down her solar. "You're acting very suspiciously for someone who has 'done nothing.' Perhaps you're the one whose lying!"

Scoffing, Jaime turned around to her again. "Catelyn Stark is not the type of woman to leave her beloved daughter in the middle of the night without bidding her farewell. Or even giving her a reason. Did she leave you a letter? A note? Come on, Lyarra. I am not a fool."

"Nothing. She left nothing!" Lyarra exclaimed, unable to stop her voice from rising. "I don't know why she left. But judging by your state of panic, she obviously had a very good reason. I ask you again, what did you do?"

She didn't need an answer. She didn't want one, even. If he had a hand in hurting her brother, they would never be able to salvage their marriage. All hope Lyarra had of a happy life for her and her children would be gone. Lyarra didn't want that. But she would not allow herself to be painted as a criminal when Jaime was obviously not innocent himself.

"I did nothing," he repeated, more quietly and less angrily this time.

"Are you covering up for someone else?" Lyarra questioned. Jaime didn't reply. _The queen. The queen did it._ She could forgive him for protecting his sister. After all, if Robb did something terrible, Lyarra would lie for him without a second thought. Lyarra was becoming impatient. She scoffed and looked away from him. "How am I supposed to be honest with you, when you won't be honest with me?"

"Because you are my wife," he replied. "You are supposed to answer to me."

"That's not fair," Lyarra complained, sitting herself down on the chair again. She rested her hand on her stomach, trying to calm herself. _This stress is not good for the child. I must be calm._

"That's how it is." Jaime narrowed his eyes at her, watching his wife closely. "Did she make any mention of wanting to kidnap Tyrion before she left?"

"I wouldn't know. I wasn't talking to her," Lyarra repeated herself, irritation sharp in her voice as she rubbed her stomach with her hand in an attempt to keep herself calm.

"Did she make any mention of kidnapping him in her letters to you?" Jaime asked her. Lyarra glared at him, disgusted by his accusations. He was accusing her of conspiring against him and his family. Though she might have lied to him about meeting with her mother, she never once did anything to hurt his family. The same could not be said for Jaime.

"No. She never mentioned Tyrion once," she answered him shortly.

"Show me them." Lyarra looked up at him, eyes wide with disbelief. "Show me her letters."

Lyarra had enough. "I will most certainly not," she snapped, aghast. Did he truly think her to be so dishonourable? Her family was of far greater reputation than his. Her mother's reputation was superior to his own. How could the _Kingslayer_ , of all people, dare to accuse her of such treacherous actions?

"I command you to show me her letters," Jaime repeated. " _Lyarra_..."

"You do not command me," she retorted back at him, glaring at her husband with all the anger she had in her. "I will not show you _any_ of the letters my mother sent me. You will just have to take me by my word. I have not once done anything to cause harm towards your family – nor have I plotted behind your back. Now, can you honestly say the same?" She waited for his response. For him to dodge the question, _yet again._ But Jaime said nothing, so she repeated, "Can you?"

Jaime flinched back. His face softened, his eyes never leaving hers. "Lyarra..." he began before Lyarra cut him off.

She let out a short, derisive laugh. "As you see, I am kept in the dark by everyone. How could I possibly know anything?" She paused, waiting for him to say something. To apologise. _Anything._ She should have known that her husband would never do such a thing. "If you wouldn't mind, I have to finish up the accounts." _Some of us have duties other than skulking around all day and picking fights,_ she wanted to add, her childishness getting the better of her, but she forced herself to remain civil. Instead, she focused on finishing the accounts.

Jaime didn't stir from his spot in the centre of her solar for what felt like forever. Lyarra only looked up at him when she heard the shuffling of his feet. She watched him leave. As soon as the door was shut, Lyarra leaned back in her chair, hand on her stomach, and became engulfed by her thoughts.

* * *

"There are so many of them," Lyarra commented as she and Genna stared out the window at the arriving bannermen and their armies. She wanted to warn her uncle, but Lord Tywin made sure that someone checked her letters before she sent them. Ever since news arrived to Casterly Rock about Tyrion's capture, Lyarra's life was suddenly very restricted. She felt like a prisoner in the place that was supposed to be her home.

"The Lannister army is the second largest in Westeros," Genna told her proudly as she too stared at the arriving forces. "50,000 men. Second only to the Tyrells, who have 100,000. The Tyrell army is made up mainly by untrained infantry men, while we boast a large amount of cavalry and trained infantry."

"Why is Lord Tywin preparing for war? I thought he was only sending Ser Gregor to pillage the Riverlands to punish my mother," Lyarra asked, turning to Genna for an answer. The older woman looked reluctant to give her one. Lyarra became worried. "Oh no, what is it?"

Genna hesitated before finally deciding to tell her good-niece. "Your father has been accused of treason by King Joffrey and is now in the black cells, awaiting his trial. The North has not reacted well."

"Of course they haven't!" Lyarra exclaimed, her breathing becoming much faster than usual. "What grounds could Joffrey possibly have to justify putting my father in a _cell_?"

"Your father accused Joffrey of not being the rightful king. He claimed the king was illegitimate," Genna informed her, watching her closely for her reaction. Lyarra made sure to school her expression into one of shock, instead of showing the curiosity she was feeling.

"Where did he get that idea?" Lyarra asked. The gears in her head were turning. It all made so much sense. Cersei – or her lover, whoever he was – pushed Bran out of that window when he saw them together. Perhaps the queen had been having an affair for decades. Lyarra wouldn't blame her for that – if the king could have his affairs, why couldn't the queen? – what she did fault her for, however, was pushing an _innocent child_ out of a window!

It was now more clear to Lyarra than ever that Cersei was guilty. _Jaime must know. That's why he's been so paranoid. He's protecting Cersei._

"The gods only know," Genna said, sounding exasperated. "But your father is an honourable man. He must have had reasons to think such a foul thing of my niece. Do you know what they might be?"

"No idea." Lyarra was getting fed up with the constant accusations being sent her way by Lannisters. Nobody told her anything. The Starks considered her loyal to the Lannisters and the Lannisters considered her loyal to the Starks. The realisation made her feel lonely. "When is his trial?"

"We don't know that yet. Hopefully soon, so he can be declared innocent and sent on his way home. This silly business has to be put to bed quickly, before anyone gets any silly ideas." Genna shook her head, eyes glued on the men entering their home.

"Oh, like what?"

"Like an uprising. We certainly don't need another one of them," Genna said.

"Isn't that what's happening now?" Lyarra asked, looking down at the armies gathering. She saw her good-father and husband standing outside to welcome his bannermen. "Between my– between the Starks and the Lannisters?"

"No, my dear. This is not an uprising," she explained. "This is a war between two noble houses caused by a simple dispute. If Westeros was ruled by women, we wouldn't have such useless conflicts. But alas, we are ruled by proud, egotistic men. Now, we must welcome these men into our home. Shall we?"

Lyarra nodded, wanting nothing more than to crawl back to her room. Her back hurt, her emotions were all over the place and the last thing she wanted was to welcome the men that were at war with her brother into her 'home.' But Lyarra realised she had no choice in the matter, and so she walked towards the entrance to the castle and greeted the men as they walked into her home. Some greeted her coldly, others dismissively, some were friendly enough. Lyarra couldn't find it in her to care. Her thoughts kept drifting off to her father, alone in a dark cell in King's Landing. The most honourable man in Westeros – imprisoned for treason? It didn't make sense to her. Her father wouldn't make an accusation like that unless he was certain.

* * *

As Rhea readied her for dinner, Lyarra barely spoke. Her mind was a whirlwind. Jaime was lying to her. Her father was _imprisoned_ for figuring out the truth, the truth that Jaime had kept from her. To think that she had felt guilty for lying to him, when he was keeping such a huge secret from her! _You stupid, stupid girl,_ she chided herself. _To think I almost considered my self in love him._ Never again would she be so naive.

Just as Rhea was finished getting her ready, Jaime strolled into her bedroom. Lyarra didn't spare him a glance. "You're still mad."

"I am not mad," Lyarra insisted, scoffing. She folded and put away some of clothes she had been making for their baby, choosing to do anything but look at her husband.

"No?" Jaime said, not quite believing her. He placed himself in the seat beside the fireplace, crossing his legs and relaxing into the chair nonchalantly, as though he hadn't a worry in the world. _Far from the Jaime from yesterday._ Lyarra couldn't keep up with his mood changes. She was getting sick of trying.

"Did you know?" She whipped around to face him, fixing Jaime with an accusing look. Jaime merely looked at her for a moment, startled by her quick change in demeanour.

"Know what?" he asked.

"About my father," she clarified. She heard her voice shake and cursed herself. How was she to seem strong when she felt so weak, so vulnerable? She let out a quick, hysterical laugh. "He's been imprisoned. For treason. Did you know?"

"Lyarra, I couldn't-"

"Don't lie to me," she said, still laughing as she mimicked his voice from earlier. "You seem to like saying that to me so much. _Don't lie to me._ But you've lied to me, haven't you? Over and over again."

"What are you talking about? Are you drunk?" he asked her, appalled.

"Of course I'm not drunk!" she exclaimed. " _If only_ I was. Don't dodge the question. Did you know?"

Jaime sighed and uncrossed his legs, sitting up in the chair as he chose to address her seriously, for once. "I did." Lyarra scoffed. "But I never lied to you," he defended himself. "It's not lying when you didn't know."

"Oh, so you just kept information from me. It's the same damn thing," Lyarra accused, her anger getting the better of her. She knew that she should calm down – for the baby, if nothing else.

"I did it for your own benefit," Jaime defended, rising from his seat and walking towards her. Lyarra glared at him as he approached her. "I knew how you'd react. You get overworked about things. It's not good for the baby."

"So you just decided to just not tell me? That solves the problem." Lyarra shook her head, very irritated. She heard Jaime sigh. She gave him a look before sitting down at the end of her bed, breathing deeply to calm herself. "What do you think will happen to him?"

Jaime softened. He sat down beside Lyarra and exhaled. "I don't know. Joffrey can be... unpredictable."

Lyarra nodded silently. She bit her lower lip, wondering whether it was a good idea to ask him if what her father said was true. She turned her head to look at him and decided not to, remembering that they had to sit through a lengthy feast. Jaime stood up and offered her his arm. "Shall we?" he said, sounding no more excited than she was.

"Unfortunately, yes," Lyarra replied, linking her arm with his and allowing him to lead her to the Great Hall.

They were seated at the top of the table, near Lord Tywin. Genna was the only other woman in attendance, the rest were loud, over-confident men boasting about their successes in battle in the hope that Lord Tywin would hear them and put them in charge of the vanguard. Lyarra wanted nothing more than to retire to bed, but she had a duty. She would have to live amongst these people for the rest of her life. She had to make an effort, even if that meant sitting through endless feasts and nodding politely as men boasted to her of their accomplishments.

Just as dinner started being served, Lord Tywin ended all small talk and started speaking about the upcoming war. Lyarra tried to pay attention. Usually, such talk would interest her greatly, but she was so tired. All she could think about was her father and sisters in King's Landing. Here she sat, feasting amongst his enemies as he lay in a cell.

"Forgive me, my lord," Lord Lefford spoke again. Out of all the bannermen, he seemed to speak the most often. He was also loud enough to deafen her. "But I must raise a concern – why is a Stark feasting with us, when it is House Stark we are waging war against?"

"If you are referring to my wife, then the answer is quite simple," Jaime replied, giving Lord Lefford a smile that cut like a knife. "Because she is _my wife_." He gave him a look that would make most men back down, but Lord Lefford was obviously of tougher stock than most men.

"I mean no offense, my lord." Lord Lefford's apology was insincere and a mere courtesy, and so the lord continued on. "But we cannot ignore the possibility that she might have Stark sympathies. It might be... unwise to allow her to be privy to our battle plans."

Enraged, Lyarra opened her mouth to respond – of course she had Stark sympathies, but she was an honourable woman and knew her duty too! – but before she could, Jaime subtly shook his head, signalling her to be quiet. Lyarra obeyed him and closed her mouth, seething silently.

Surprising even her, Lord Tywin rose to her defence. "You ought tread carefully, Lord Lefford. To accuse the Lady Lannister is to insult House Lannister itself. I'll hear no more of this. We have more important matters to discuss." Tywin gave him a look that commanded no further arguments. Lord Lefford nodded, a glare upon his face as he reluctantly stayed quiet. "Ser Gregor has already taken a host of men and is ravaging the Riverlands as we speak."

Lyarra gulped, hoping to push back the tears in her eyes. Her mother's home was being ravaged. Sensing her distress, Jaime placed a hand on her knee and gave it a quick squeeze. The dinner seemed to last forever. Lyarra tried to ignore it all, yet her mind chose to torture itself by listening to every detail of every battle plan. By the time the dinner was finished, her mind was filled by horrible images of Riverrun surrounded by Lannister men, of her mother and brother being killed, of Winterfell burning.

As Jaime led her to their bedroom, she found herself sick with worry and speechless. She was too preoccupied by her thoughts to speak. Jaime sat her down at the edge of her bed and kneeled in front of her.

Though she was still angry at him, Lyarra felt a deep need to be comfort and let him comfort her. "Over the next few days," Jaime began carefully, "while we prepare for war, you are going to hear a lot of terrible things. Things that will be especially terrible to you because it effects your family. I am not stupid enough to think that you are unquestionably loyal to us, nor bold enough to expect you to be. But for the sake of our child, ignore it all. Pretend its not happening. The meetings, the taunts, the threats – all of it. Just... go away inside."

She blinked back the tears in her eyes and found herself speaking more harshly than she intended to. "What will that do?"

"Prevent you from losing our child, that's what," he snapped. Used to his quick temper. Lyarra barely reacted to the sudden change. Jaime took a deep breath to calm himself and continued. "Women are known to have stillbirths when under stress. And whatever you do, don't do anything rash while I'm away."

Lyarra rolled her eyes. "When have I ever?"

* * *

Perhaps it was the sharp change in her mood because of her pregnancy or the fact that her good-father had ignored her for the last twenty minutes, but Lyarra was starting to become very irritated.

He was the one who had summoned her after all. And yet, since she walked in twenty minutes ago, he had done nothing but write letters and documents. Every time he finished one she thought that he might finally turn his attention to her, but then he simply picked up the next sheet of paper and started writing again, and so the cycle went on. He didn't even look at her.

 _How rude._ Lyarra seethed internally. _No wonder Jaime is the way he is. Rudeness runs in the family._ She narrowed her eyes at him and sat back in the chair, knowing that she wouldn't be addressed any time soon. As soon as she made herself comfortable, Tywin set those accusing green eyes upon her and started speaking.

She almost sighed with relief. _Finally!_

"You must be wondering why I summoned you," Tywin stated, placing his pen in the ink-pot.

Lyarra wasn't going to lie. "I am."

"Firstly," her good-father spoke to her so formally. There was nothing familial about Tywin Lannister. "I must express my surprise. You've managed to win over most of my bannermen, despite their initial distrust. You did well. Better than I expected."

"Thank you," was all Lyarra said in response, though inside she was delighted with herself.

"Apart from Lord Lefford, of course. But I don't think that man could get on well with anyone of House Lannister." Tywin paused and narrowed his eyes at his good-daughter. Lyarra flinched at the scrutiny. "You've proven yourself well. Because of this, and because of sheer necessity, I've decided to leave you in charge of the Westerlands in my stead while I'm away – along with my sister Genna, of course. But to keep face, it is important that my heir's wife is seen to be in charge."

Lyarra blinked, very much surprised at his decision. Her and Genna would be the only Lannisters of age to remain in the castle, but she thought her status as a Stark would make her ineligible for the role of regent. "Your bannermen won't take that news well."

"My bannermen will learn to respect my son's wife or suffer the consequences," Tywin said. "You're not a Stark anymore. You are a Lannister and I expect you to act as one. That means no silly business – no conspiring, no treachery. Do you understand?"

"Of course," Lyarra nodded.

"I have given Genna the power to overrule any of your decisions if they seem unwise or biased in favour of House Stark. How you act in the coming months will determine where your loyalties lie. Try anything, and you will never be given such trust again. Prove yourself to be a capable regent and it will benefit you greatly."

"What do you mean?" Lyarra asked, never one to be subtle.

"I'm not going to live forever. Nor will my brothers or my sister. Someday, Jaime will be left in charge of the Westerlands. My son can do nothing but fight and, perhaps with some tutelage, he might become a capable battle commander. He does not have the head for ruling, nor the charisma. I've tried to make him a good ruler when he was younger and again in the last few months. I have not succeeded." Tywin narrowed his eyes at her again. "Genna has advised me to turn my hopes to you. I trust my sister's judgement. Don't make me regret it."

She understood what he was saying. The thought of ruling an entire kingdom thrilled her. She never thought ruling would interest her, yet the thought of being regent made her more excited than she had ever thought it would.

"I won't," she promised. Gruffly, Lord Tywin gave her leave. As soon as she entered the privacy of her bedroom, Lyarra squealed like a child.

* * *

As she stood at the centre of Casterly Rock's large courtyard, Lyarra was reminded of a time only a few months ago when she had to bid farewell to her family. Though she was not as attached to Jaime as she was to her family, Lyarra still wished he didn't have to go.

She walked over to her husband who was tending to his horse. Unsure of what to say, she decided on asking him, "Are you all set?"

Jaime turned around and grinned at her. "Very much so." The grin fell from his face when he remembered that it was her family he was going to war against. Jaime sobered. "It is unfortunate that I am going to war against your family, but you must understand, I live for battle. To fight."

Lyarra nodded, understanding. _What a life that must be._ Lyarra disapproved of his thirst for battle, but said nothing more on the matter. War meant that her family and her husband's were divided. War meant that her husband would not be there for the birth of their child. War meant that she may never see her family again. Quite simply put, Lyarra loathed war, while Jaime seemed to live for it.

"I should be back within a few months," Jaime told her. "If this dispute is not solved diplomatically, then it should not take too long to defeat the North. Their men are not nearly as well-trained as ours." Lyarra stiffened. Jaime must have noticed as he continued on, "Hopefully no one has to die for such a stupid dispute." Lyarra understood his meaning. Even if he had to say it in a concealed way, he wasn't looking for her family's blood.

"I hope so too."

"You'll write to me, as soon as you have the baby," Jaime asked her.

She smiled, glad that the topic had changed to a much lighter matter. "Of course I will." As though the baby heard them talking about him or her, Lyarra felt a stirring in her stomach before she felt sharp jab against her abdomen. She smiled, knowing what it was. Laughing to herself, she grabbed Jaime's hand and placed it on her stomach, ignoring the strange look he cast her. "It kicked me!"

"It?" Jaime repeated, but was silenced by Lyarra's glare. He pressed his hand against her stomach, a grin forming on his face as he too felt the baby kick. He chuckled to himself. "He's strong."

"He?" Lyarra echoed.

"Only a boy could kick like that," Jaime stated. His hand lingered on her stomach for a little longer, feeling the baby kick once more before drawing his hand away again. They heard Lord Tywin yelling for them all to mount their horses. "Take care of yourself, won't you? And the babe, when it comes."

Lyarra nodded, resisting the urge to correct his use of the word 'it' to refer to their baby since he was going off to war. "I will. You take care of yourself too."

"I always do," Jaime smirked at her confidently. He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before mounting his white horse gracefully.

"Don't die!"

"I haven't yet, have I?" he called over his shoulder as his horse trotted out of the gate. Lyarra watched them go, a familiar feeling in her stomach.


	10. Power and Control

**Power and Control**

Genna watched her young good-niece as she dealt with the members of Casterly Rock's household. She smiled to herself. The gods had seen it fit to curse both Genna and Lyarra with the body of women, yet they had granted them both brilliant minds, match for any man. Perhaps that was why Genna had grown so fond of the little wolf. Lyarra Stark was so similar to how Genna was at that age – wilful, intelligent, and oh-so capable. Had it not been for their sex, they could have conquered the world.

But Genna made sure to remind herself that her nephew's wife was of an enemy house. Though she refused to treat Lyarra any differently because of her family's treachery, she was cautious of what was said around her, a trait that the rest of the household did not seem to share.

"My lady, we have received some... worrying reports," Maester Creylen said, sharing a grave look with Peckledon.

"What kind of worrying reports?" Lyarra prompted, placing her pen in the inkpot and giving the two men her full attention.

Peckledon shared another looked with the maester before letting a heavy sigh escape his lips. "As you may know, for the last decade the gold mines have been producing less and less gold. Well, we have come to the point where most of our mines are dried out."

"Except for one, my lady," Maester Creylen added. "The gold mines situated in the Golden Tooth are still relatively plentiful."

Genna looked between the two men, a scowl on her face as she glared at them both. "I must stop you both there. I mean no offense, Lyarra, but it must be said that as you hail from House Stark and you are a new member to House Lannister, you should not be privy to such sensitive information."

If Genna did not have such watchful eyes, she would not have noticed the quick flash of irritation across Lyarra's face. The two men looked between the two women anxiously. Lyarra coughed to break the silence. "Well, they've said it now. There's no use debating whether I should know something when I already do." Hesitantly, Genna nodded her agreement. Lyarra continued. "The Golden Tooth... the seat of House Lefford, I believe?"

"Very good, my lady," Maester Creylen complimented.

"Their lord is at odds with House Lannister at the moment, if I am correct. A dispute about the rate of tax." Maester Creylen and Peckledon nodded. Genna narrowed her eyes at Lyarra, wondering how the girl got so much information. "I don't believe Lord Lefford will be willing to let us increase our share in his mines. We're already taking more than we're owed."

"Which is still not enough to keep House Lannister standing," Peckledon told her. "I've studied the accounts. We need to find a new source of income, what with the long summer coming to an end."

"Indeed," Lyarra said. She was a Stark and they understood better than anyone how important it was to prepare for winter. "Perhaps we should look into repairing Castamere."

"What good would that do?" Genna asked her good-niece. Castamere had been destroyed and flooded many years ago, when she was a young girl.

"There were gold and silver mines beneath Castamere, were there not?" She looked to the maester for an answer. He nodded, watching the young lady closely as she excitedly explained her plan. "Of course, repairing Castamere would take time and investment, but we would most certainly end up with a profit."

"But the gold must be ruined. It has been soaking in water for the last four decades," Genna argued. There must be a reason as to why Tywin hadn't repaired Castamere by now.

"Water has little effect on gold, I think." Again, she looked to Maester Creylen for affirmation.

"Its worth might have decreased slightly, but the sheer amount of gold and silver beneath Castamere would make up for that, and then some!" the maester replied. He seemed to be excited by this project of Lyarra's. "I think it is an excellent idea!"

"If it is as simple as you claim," Genna spoke again, sceptical of Lyarra's plan, "then why didn't Tywin repair Castamere himself?"

"Because it wasn't necessary before," Lyarra replied. "For the last fifty years, House Lannister has been without a doubt the richest house in Westeros. This news is worrying. We have to find a way to get more gold. It may take a few years to clear the ruins of the keep and then drain the mines, perhaps a decade, but once the mines have been repaired, we will have a new source of income that may last another century."

"Or more," Maester Creylen said, his tone bright and chipper. "The Reyne's boasted about the large quantity of gold beneath their keep very often at feasts. Just before the rebellion, Lord Reyne bragged that, even though they had greatly increased productivity in their mines in the decade before, they had mined just barely a hundredth of the minerals beneath their keep."

"Tywin must have known this," Genna pointed out. "If he knew how valuable the mines were, why did he flood them? My brother is a sensible man. He would not have been so foolish."

"Lord Tywin flooded the mines of Castamere during a time when House Lannister did not have to worry about the gold mines of Casterly Rock running out. Back then, we did not have the equipment we have now. We couldn't even imagine the brilliant technology we are blessed with today!" Maester Creylen explained. For some reason, the man had always annoyed her. He thought he knew everything and, what was worse, there seemed to be nothing he wasn't knowledgeable about. "Castamere served as a brilliant reminder to all the western houses and, indeed, every house in Westeros, of the might of House Lannister. But I fear that the days when we could afford to be so senseless with riches are over now. Peck, will you make the arrangements? We must get started on this project straight away."

"Will you not write to Tywin to ask his permission?" Genna asked Lyarra.

The young Lady Lannister became pensive, biting her lip as she considered what she should do. "I don't believe that is necessary, Aunt Genna. Lord Tywin gave us leave to do whatever we thought was best for the Westerlands. As long as you are agreeable..."

Genna wasn't sure what to think. It sounded like a brilliant plan, but Genna wondered why a man like Tywin, who was so intelligent and sensible, did not think of such a great opportunity. Genna sighed, knowing that time was indeed gold when it came to resurrection of Castamere's mines. She nodded her approval. "I am agreeable. Make the arrangements as quick as possible, Peckledon. If we invest enough money, we might be able to get the mines open before winter."

"You seem unsure, Lord Peckledon," Lyarra pointed out, eyeing the steward carefully.

"I do not doubt that it is a brilliant project, my lady, but I would to raise a concern with you, if I may."

"Of course," she allowed.

"Repairing the mines of Castamere solves our long-term financial problems. If we continue to live the way we are now and make no cuts, both in our household and on wider scale, in four years time I have estimated that House Lannister will only have two hundred dragons to it's name. We need either find a quick way to improve our finances and make significant cuts to our way of living," Peck explained. "Of course, I will leave the decision to you both." He nodded towards Genna and Lyarra.

"How are the tax rates in the Westerlands?" Lyarra asked Peck.

"Quite low," Peck answered. "We haven't needed to exact much tax from the smallfolk or the nobility. I believe the general tax rate among goods and services is five percent."

"Much lower than in any of the other kingdoms," Creylen stated. Genna found herself irritated again by the mere sound of his voice.

"What would happen if we were to raise the tax rate to, say, twenty percent?" Lyarra wondered.

Peckledon considered her question for a moment before he replied. "The smallfolk would be very displeased, of course. Though I have half a mind to think that our people are the most affluent in all Seven Kingdoms. If any smallfolk in any of the kingdoms can afford to pay a high rate of tax, it is the western smallfolk. Most earn twenty-five dragons a year."

"In the North the average man earns ten," Lyarra responded. "The rate of tax is much higher too. Thirty percent. Lord Peckledon, can I trust you to speak with the tax collectors? I suppose we should impose the increase in tax slowly. Fifteen percent for the next six months before it goes to twenty. And we shouldn't tax bread. That would hit the poorest very hard."

"Very good, my lady," he agreed. "Though I do not think increasing tax will be enough to ensure House Lannister stays in good wealth."

Lyarra bit her lip, thinking hard about what else they could do. Genna watched as her eyes lit up with an idea. "It would be unfair to expect the smallfolk to bear the brunt of our declining finances. Would it make much a difference if we were to restrict the amount of goods being imported from the Free Cities? Importing fineries such as silk and linen puts our local seamstresses and cloth makers out of work. I think it would improve our economy and the amount of tax we receive."

Peckledon wrote what she said down while nodding. "I will write to our foreign trade-partners tonight to tell them that we will not be importing as much anymore."

"Thank you, my lord. If that is all..." She waited, allowing for either Peck or Creylen to speak up, before she gave them both a smile and gave them leave.

As soon as she heard the door shut and was sure the two men were out of hearing distance, Lyarra turned to Genna, a worried look on her face. "How did I do?"

Genna smiled at the young girl and took her hand in hers, giving it a soft squeeze. "Excellently. I quite believe that you have impressed them both."

"I wasn't sure about Castamere," Lyarra said. "Was that a good idea? Will Lord Tywin be displeased with me?"

"Probably," Genna admitted. Her good-niece visibly shrunk because of her words, her face becoming taut with worry. "I was unsure at first, but you managed to win me over. I'm sure you'll do the same with Tywin. And if he does not see reason, he will be able to look at the accounts and see how helpful rebuilding Castamere is to our finances!"

Lyarra smiled shyly. _She's just a child, in truth. Doll-faced and_ _desperate_ _for reassurance._ Genna patted her hand. "You did well. I would tell you if you didn't, rest assured of that!"

"I hope you will," Lyarra said. "I want to be a good regent."

"And I fear you must be. This is your chance to prove yourself, Lyarra. To Tywin, to the household, to the western lords. If you do not preform well, you will not get this opportunity again." Lyarra gulped. Genna sighed and spoke more softly. "You are judged twice as harshly because of the simple fact that you're a woman. That means that you must work twice as hard as any man, my dear, to achieve the same acknowledgement as a half decent man. It's unfair, but that is how it is. Are you prepared to work twice as hard?"

"Three times, if needs be," Lyarra replied, nodding her head eagerly. "I want to prove myself."

Genna smiled at her young good-niece, seeing herself in those wide grey eyes.

* * *

"I don't know how any ruling lord does it," Lyarra complained as she and Genna made their way towards the Great Hall. Once a week, Lyarra had to sit in front of a crowd – made up of both smallfolk and nobles – and listen to their grievances. Such an event was called a 'petition.' Lyarra found the whole ordeal terribly boring. "The thought of having to listen to petitions for the rest of my life would be enough to make me wish that it would end quicker. Death would be more exciting than listening to to some entitled lordling complain about how he's been robbed out of half an acre of land."

"It is a very important duty of any ruler of any region – however large or small. Though I understand how bothersome it is." Lyarra felt Genna's watchful gaze on her again. Anything she did or said, Genna was there to comment on how well she did. At first she felt as though she needed the reassurance. Now, as she was beginning to consider herself to be a capable ruler, it was becoming irritating. Genna continued on. "Hearing petitions is what bridges the connection between lord and subject. If a ruler was to neglect that duty, the bridge would crumble."

"I understand," Lyarra assured her, trying her best to hide her irritation. The nobles and smallfolk bowed to her and Genna as they walked inside. Lyarra walked up to the head table and took her seat at the centre, which was once occupied by Lord Tywin, with Genna on her left. She felt odd in Lord Tywin's seat. It didn't help that her feet couldn't even touch the ground.

"Let us begin," Lyarra called, reciting the words Genna had drilled into her head so many weeks again. A man, dressed in the clothing of a lord, stepped forward and bowed to her. Two girls followed at his heel. They were Lyarra's age, perhaps younger. Watching the three with wary eyes, Lyarra inclined her head in greeting. "What grievance have you come to share with me?"

"A considerable one, my lady," the man began. Lyarra took a better look at the two girls. Their faces were coloured by black and blue bruises. Lyarra diverted her attention back to the man, her stomach churning with worry. "My name is Ser Willam Cregg. I live in a keep on the border between the Riverlands and Casterly Rock, though I am loyal to House Lannister. I served as Ser Kevan's squire in my youth."

"I have heard great things of you, ser, namely of your impressive skill in battle," she replied, remembering Jaime pointing out the large, buff man at her nameday feast months ago.

"I am honoured, my lady," Ser Willam said, inclining his head towards her. "It is because of my devout loyalty to House Lannister and the trust I have in your house, that I have come to Casterly Rock to ask for justice." He paused for a moment and licked his lips. "My lands were pillaged by the Mountain. My crops burnt. Ser Gregor Clegane attacked my soldiers, broke into my keep, insulted my honour by accusing me of being loyal to House Tully, and, worst of all, _raped_ my daughters while they were in their beds!" One of the girls began to weep while the others stared at the wall, a blank expression on her face. "I have brought them before you today to show you what the brute has done to my daughters. Girls, show Lady Lannister your arms."

The girl who has weeping began to weep even louder as she and her sister showed Lyarra their bruised arms. There were cuts along them as well and marks made by rough hands. Lyarra felt sick to the stomach. Lyarra gulped and nodded to the two girls. They both pulled their shawls over their shoulders again.

"While I must express my sincerest sympathy and, quite frankly, my utmost horror at what has been done to your daughters, it is not my place to give you justice. That duty lies with your liege lord. Lord Lefford, is it not?"

Ser Willam scoffed. "The man is too craven! I presented my grievances before him and my daughters and he refused to give me justice! That is why I came to you, my lady, in the hopes that you would exact justice for the crimes done against me and my daughters. But if you will not, then I will find justice for myself."

"Lord Lefford has wronged you, ser. Maester Creylen," she spoke to the maester behind her, "send a summon to Lord Lefford. He has neglected to do his duty to his subject and must answer for it."

"Lord Lefford is here, my lady!" She heard a voice call. The fat, over-confident man she recognised to be Lord Leo Lefford walked towards the head table, standing beside Ser Willam.

"Ser Willam has accused you of neglecting to bring those who have wronged him to justice," Lyarra informed her good-father's bannermen. "That is your duty to your subjects, is it not? To ensure that they receive justice for the crimes committed against them."

"It is, my lady, but as Ser Gregor Clegane is of the same status as I am, I fear it was not my place to bring the Mountain to justice," he replied smoothly, wearing a very relaxed smirk. Lyarra gripped the edge of the table, trying her best to keep her demeanour stony. Showing emotion or getting mad would not serve her reputation well.

"The protocol for situations like this is quite simple, Lord Lefford. You should have either discussed the issue with Ser Gregor or brought Ser Willam's grievance to me immediately, as I am your acting liege lord. Yet you did not. Do you blame ignorance for your inability to perform your duties sufficiently or sheer laziness?" Lyarra felt her blood begin to boil. She knew by looking at Lord Lefford that she had greatly insulted him.

"I will not be lectured on my duties by a mere _child_ whose boots are far too big!" Lord Lefford growled at her. Lyarra blinked at him, startled, but tried her best to look composed and dignified. Inside, however, she was terrified.

"I am your acting liege lord while Lord Tywin is away and you will show me respect," Lyarra commanded him, attempting to keep her voice steady as she raised its tone. Lord Lefford glared at her. "You have proven yourself to be dishonourable and unfit in your treatment of Ser Willam and his daughters. A lord who neglects to give his subjects justice does not deserve to have the title."

"You stand before me, your feet unable to even touch the ground below you, and dare to call me dishonourable when your own father is in a cell for committing treason? While your brother is starting an uprising against the crown? Hypocrisy!"

"It is clear to me, my lord, that you value pride more than morality," Lyarra accused. "Ser Willam will have his justice. I have half a mind to call Ser Gregor back to Casterly Rock and have you both answer for your crimes."

"Crime? I have committed no crime! I will not listen to such hypocrisy, such insults, from Jaime Lannister's child-bride!" Lord Lefford shouted at her. He spat at the ground in front of her, causing Lyarra to flinch.

Before Lyarra could respond to him, Genna leaned in to her ear and whispered, "Think about this, Lyarra. You're acting rash. We need to think about this."

Lyarra froze, her mind becoming a whirlwind as she tried to think of a solution. She turned her attention to the two men once again. "This is a matter too great to be resolved in one conversation. We will reconvene tomorrow, when everyone is hopefully a lot calmer. She gave Lord Lefford a harsh glare, which the older man returned.

"Of course, my lady," Ser Willam bowed to her while Lord Lefford swiftly spun on her heel and stormed out of the Great Hall. The knight left with his daughters and Lyarra was forced to continue hearing petitions, though her mind was still preoccupied with what to do with Ser Willam.

As soon as she and Genna were alone in Lyarra's solar, the older woman advanced on her. "What were you _thinking_?"

"The man's daughters were raped, his lands pillaged! He deserves justice," Lyarra insisted heatedly.

"Of course he 'deserves' justice," Genna stated, rolling her eyes. "But the world is not so simple, my dear. By giving the hedge knight justice, you are angering a powerful lord. Be smart, make amends with Lord Lefford. Retract your insults."

"I will most certainly not," Lyarra replied. She shook her head vehemently. "That man is vile and a completely useless lord! He needs to be put in his place!"

"That he does," her aunt agreed. Sighing, she sat herself in the seat opposite Lyarra and spoke to her in a much softer tone. "You have a kind heart. I admire you for that, I do. But you must be diplomatic. You cannot put a hedge knight before a loyal bannermen of House Lannister. Ser Gregor Clegane has served us well for the last two decades. Lord Lefford comes from one of the oldest and most prestigious houses in the Westerlands. We must pick our battles well, Lyarra, and this is not one of them."

"Why can't it be?" Lyarra asked, sighing. She leaned back in her chair and rested her hand on her very large stomach. "Why can't we be different?"

Genna chuckled fondly at the young girl, shaking her head in amusement. "An honourable thought. Many have thought as you have. Many have dreamt of change. The ones that survive past thirty are the ones that have been disillusioned. The ones that cling to the idea of reformation are the ones that perish first. You're a clever girl. Make the right choice. This is the decision that will show the western lords just how capable you are. If you make the wrong decision, they will view as Lord Lefford does – as a silly little girl whose feet can barely touch the ground. So what will it be?"

Lyarra found herself at a loss for ideas. She struggled to find a compromise, a way to make sure that both parties were not insulted. Eventually, she made her choice. With a sigh, she nodded her understanding.

 _If Father saw me now..._

* * *

Cersei sipped at her wine, head whirling with thoughts as she tried to listen to her son's endless rant. Joffrey had seen it fit to behead Ned Stark, a choice that even Cersei disagreed with. He was justifying his decision to her now, though Cersei found his explanation repetitive. She forgave him for his choice already. He was young – he could be taught how to be a good ruler, they could weed out his impulsive nature. Ned Stark was a mistake. Joffrey would learn. _He has to._

"What will you do with Sansa Stark?" Cersei asked him during one of his pauses, before he could start another long-winded rant.

Joffrey blinked at his mother, obviously unsure. It had been a long week. Of course he hadn't given the Stark girl any thought. That was why Cersei wanted to speak with him about her. "Well, what is there to do?" He chuckled. "Unfortunately, I am still bound to her by the gods. She will stay with me in King's Landing and we will wed once she has bled."

"I suppose we have no other choice," Cersei mused. "Though, the High Septon could be persuaded to allow you to break your betrothal. Her father was a traitor."

"No!" Joffrey raised his voice to her, his face turning red with either anger or embarrassment at his outburst. He coughed and said in a calmer voice, "No. I must keep to my word. I will not taint my honour by breaking my oath to Sansa."

 _You did not keep your word when you decided on a whim to execute Ned Stark. How important was your word then, my son?_ She pressed her lips together. Her son was the king. Her son would be a great king. It did her no good to get cross with him or question his decisions. "As you wish," she said, another, perhaps more pressing, matter popping into her head. "And what of the girl's sister?"

"The wild beast Arya?"

"No, not her. That animal is unfortunately not ours to deal with," Cersei said. The beast of a girl had run away before her father was killed. "No. I meant the other one. Lyarra. She must be dealt with as well. Her loyalty to us must be affirmed."

"Ah, Jaime's wife," Joffrey grinned, a hint of malice on his lips. Cersei was delighted by the response the mention of Lyarra got from her son. How she wished to see the insolent wolf girl be put in her place. "Yes. You're right, Mother. We cannot allow her the freedom to plot against us."

Smiling, Cersei nodded in agreement. "Good. My father has seen it fit to put a traitor's daughter in charge of Casterly Rock. Ned Stark's daughter defiles my home, your ancestor's home. I have no doubt that she is plotting treason as we speak, turning our own people against us. What will you do?"

Joffrey sat down in front of Cersei, his leg bouncing up and down like an excited child. Cersei grinned at the sight. "I suppose Sansa should like to see her sister again."

"They must not be allowed to speak with each other. The two have bad blood – traitor's blood. But yes, bringing Lyarra Stark to King's Landing is a wise idea," Cersei complimented her son. "Have her swear fealty to you before the Iron Throne, in front of all your subjects. If she does not comply, show the people what happens to those who disobey you. Make an example of her."

Her son grinned. "I will. That is a great idea, Mother. Write to her as soon as possible. I want her to be in King's Landing before she gives birth. Or better yet, lose that wretched child of hers on the way here."

Cersei blinked, surprised at the cruelty in her son's words, but nodded nonetheless. After all, she was thinking the same thing.

* * *

"Ser Willam Cregg," the herald announced. The whispers in the Great Hall died as every nobleman in attendance turned their eyes towards the door, watching the walk towards Lyarra.

The man was without his daughters today. Lyarra asked for them not to attend, mostly because she was unable to look the two girls in the eye, knowing that she was denying them their justice. Ser Willam bowed to her. "Lady Lannister."

"Ser Willam," she responded, inclining her head.

"Lord Leo of House Lefford, Lord of the Golden Tooth," the herald called next. Lord Lefford staggered into the Great Hall, an angry scowl upon his face as he approached Lyarra. He gave her a shallow bow and made no attempt at a pleasant greeting. Lyarra shared a look with Genna beside her. The herald called again, "Ser Randor Clegane, who comes to represent his nephew Ser Gregor Clegane."

Lyarra watched Ser Randor closely as he approached her. He was a ridiculously tall man with broad shoulders and a muscular body. Lyarra found him rather threatening. He eyed her before offering Lyarra a low bow. She took a deep breath before speaking to the three men.

"Ser Randor, I thank you for coming on the behalf of your nephew," she addressed him. The man inclined his head. He seemed amicable enough, but Lyarra still found his presence startling. "We have gathered to discuss the unlawful pillaging of Ser Willam Cregg's lands and the rape of his two daughters by Ser Gregor Clegane. I have given this matter much thought and consideration, and I have decided that in compensation for damages done to his lands and his family, Ser Gregor Clegane will pay a substantial fine to Ser Willam Cregg of one hundred dragons. Do you agree to this, Ser Randor?"

"I do." The man nodded his agreement, knowing that his nephew was getting off easy.

All it took was one look at Ser Willam's face and Lyarra felt disgusted with herself. _Father taught_ _me to be honourable. To always do the right thing. This is a disgrace._ She took a deep breath, not daring to look at Ser Willam. She would not ask if he was agreeable as surely he would not be. One hundred dragons would barely be enough to repair his keep and lands, not to mention the fact that his daughters were now, unfortunately, unfit to be wed because of Ser Gregor's brutality. Genna convinced her that it was the right decision, but if it was, then why did Lyarra feel so disgusted with herself?

"Lord Lefford," she addressed the foul-faced lord first. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Your treatment of Ser Willam Cregg warrants disappointment, of course, but I hope that you have learned your lesson. Your duties as a lord are not to be shirked. If you show such negligence to your subjects again, you will be given due punishment. Do you understand?"

Lord Lefford's glare intensified, his brown eyes blazing with anger, though he managed to grit out through his teeth, "Yes, my lady."

Lyarra flinched at the sight of his angry face. She knew that Lord Lefford would not forget how she humiliated him in front of his peers. She had made an enemy of him. "Good," she forced her voice to remain steady. She stood up. The noblemen followed suit and rose from their seats. "I thank you for your co-operation. My lords." She inclined her head towards them one last time before leaving the Great Hall, conscious of Ser Willam's and Lord Lefford's eyes glaring daggers at the back of her head.

Genna led her to her solar. "You did well," Genna praised her, sitting her down by the fireplace. Lyarra buried her head in her hands. "Though you were too harsh with Lord Lefford."

"Ser Willam deserved justice. I denied him that. I'm no better than Lord Lefford," Lyarra lamented. Genna handed her a glass of water and sat in the seat opposite Lyarra.

"Perhaps not," Genna agreed, causing Lyarra's eyes to widen at her aunt's frankness. "But that is the life of a noble. No ruler is always virtuous. No, allow me clarify – no ruler is both virtuous and successful. You can't make everyone happy, so you must prioritise."

"The only person who ended up happy was Ser Gregor Clegane – _the rapist_ ," Lyarra stressed.

"No. The only person who ended up happy was Ser Gregor Clegane – a loyal bannerman of House Lannister. Ser Gregor is too valuable to slight. He is an asset. He inspires fear in our enemies and is a skilled knight and military commander. Tywin sees his worth and so do I, and you must as well," Genna explained. Seeing Lyarra's expression, Genna sighed and continued. "You were raised by an honourable man. Your father is good to his people. He is everything a good man and leader is supposed to be. But the North is a country with a poor economy and little significance. That's what happens when a ruler is too honourable – his country cannot flourish."

"That's not true," Lyarra argued. "There are plenty of honourable men who were good rulers."

"No," the older woman replied, her voice firm. "There are plenty of men who managed to appear honourable. It is an illusion, Lyarra. Honour. When faced with difficult decisions, leaders rightfully choose the easier, most advantageous option, even if it is not morally right. What matters is if anyone can find out."

"That's–" Lyarra was interrupted by a man knocking on the door. She shared a look with Genna before calling out, irritation sharp in her voice, "Come in."

A page boy came rushing in, a letter in his hand, and offered the letter to Lyarra. "From King's Landing, my lady."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I wanted to show how much Lyarra is influenced by her father in how she approaches leadership, and how that doesn't really work in the south. I also didn't want Lyarra to be a brilliant, wise leader at first because she has no training and is only fifteen. I'm hoping it seemed realistic! And what do you guys think of Genna? I really enjoy writing her! Let me know what you think!


	11. Clever Girls

**Clever Girls**

 _L_ _ady L_ _yarra of House Lannister,_

 _I write to you with delight in my heart. You will be glad to learn that the traitor Lord Eddard of House Stark has met justice. Our gracious King Joffrey saw it saw that Lord Eddard pay for his crime of treason with his life. He was beheaded by the king's justice Ser Ilyn Payne while the crowds cried with joy. As I know you are most undoubtedly loyal to House Lannister and the crown, I am sure that you will find relief and gladness in this news._

 _Therefore it is merely in the name of formality that King Joffrey of House Baratheon has commanded you to come to King's Landing to swear fealty to him. He requires you to arrive in King's Landing within a fortnight, or have your absence taken as an admittance of treason. Failure to arrive during the time-frame the king has allowed you is an act of treason. Though I do regard you as my most beloved good-sister, the king and I cannot ignore your worrisome relation to many traitors and as a result, we must observe your actions with cautious eyes._

 _Finally, I should like to congratulate you on getting with child so soon into your marriage. I will congratulate you properly once you come to King's Landing._

 _Cersei of House Lannister, Queen Regent._

"Well?" Genna pressed as Lyarra fumbled to open the letter, fearing the worst. "What does it say?"

Quickly, Lyarra scanned through the letter, her heart thumping madly in her chest from the moment she read the very first sentence. Lyarra only barely got through the first paragraph before she felt tears rushing to her eyes, blurring her vision and making the letter unreadable. She dropped the letter onto the ground and collapsed to her knees, a cry of sheer agony escaping her lips.

 _Father... dead._ Good gods, she could scarcely think! Her heart was breaking; her mind was shattered. _The most honourable man in Westeros... beheaded for treason!_ Genna lowered herself onto her knees beside Lyarra and picked up the letter. She too paused after the first paragraph and looked at Lyarra with pity.

"Oh, my dear child," she sympathised as she gathered Lyarra into her arms and held her tightly. Lyarra clutched onto Genna for dear life, sobbing and wailing as though she was a child again. They could no doubt hear her cries as far away as the kitchen, but Lyarra didn't have the energy to care about such things. "What a wretched boy we are forced to call king!"

"He killed my father," Lyarra sobbed into Genna's chest. "He had his head- my father! Without a head! Oh, Genna, I can't stop- I see- the sight of him!" She struggled to form a sentence and simply gave up. Genna shushed her and held the young Lady Lannister tighter, pressing a kiss on the crown of her head.

"I know, I know," she soothed. "Let it out, Lyarra. Let it all out." And so, Lyarra did. She wailed for what must have been two hours at least. Her tears dampened Genna's dress, but the elder woman didn't seem to care.

"I never thought, when I said goodbye to him, that it would be the last time I'd ever see him," Lyarra lamented. She had stopped crying, but when she tried to speak she hiccuped. She did not have the energy yet to stand, so she sat on the floor, her back against the wall as she tried to make sense of what she had just read. "If I had only known..."

"But you couldn't have, my dear," Genna stated, placing a hand on Lyarra's knee. "Nor would your lord father have expected you to." She gave her a sorry smile and patted her knee. "There is more to the letter Cersei sent you. I regret to be so insensitive, but I fear that my dear niece has refused to allow you any time to mourn." Genna handed her the letter. Lyarra wanted nothing more than to rip the letter to shreds, but resisted the urge and read the second and third paragraphs.

"I've been summoned to King's Landing," Lyarra announced, wiping the tears from her eyes and feeling only rage."Cersei knows that I am heavy with child. My father has just been beheaded – by her _son_! – yet she has the gall to expect me in King's Landing within the fortnight! How could she be so cruel?"

"Hm," Genna said thoughtfully, becoming rather distant. Lyarra watched her aunt carefully. Genna shook her head slightly and focused on Lyarra again. "Cersei is as cruel as they come. Always has been. Spoilt by her father and cruel by nature, that girl was never going to turn out well. Yet she is a cruel woman who wears a crown and whose son is the king. If we had more time, I would write to Tywin and have him sort out the king and his mother. But we do not, I'm afraid. You must go."

Lyarra began to sob again, overwhelmed by news of her father's death and by how unfairly she was being treated by the queen. Genna rubbed her back soothingly. "I know I must go," Lyarra sobbed, "but I do not trust myself to act civil to Cersei and Joffrey – he killed my father! How am I to be civil to my father's _murderer_?"

"He might have been an enemy of House Lannister, but he was, first and foremost, your father," Genna said. "Only a cruel idiot would expect you to not grieve for him. Such is the king and my niece. You will not be offered any condolences in King's Landing. There, you must hide your grief. Do you understand?"

Though Genna's words only made her sob harder, Lyarra found herself agreeing.

* * *

The day after she received word of her father's execution, Lyarra stayed in her bedroom and sobbed. She tried to be strong. She tried to make the arrangements for her departure, knowing that she did not have long to get to King's Landing, but Lyarra did not have the energy or the interest. She cried for her father most of all. How scared he must have been, alone in the black cells, treated like some sort of criminal. Lord Eddard Stark – a criminal? Lyarra could not believe it. She would not believe it.

She cried for herself too. Fatherless, alone and unprotected. She was expecting a child, her first child, and she could not write to her mother for advice. Her father was dead, her family and her husband's family at war with each other, her husband at war with her _brother_! Lyarra felt bad for feeling sorry for herself, yet she could not help but think that she had every reason to be.

Her handmaiden Rhea found her curled up in her bed, bawling her eyes out. Though usually Lyarra would be embarrassed to be found in such a state, Lyarra didn't care at all. She hadn't it in her to be prideful. She didn't have the energy to care. So she stayed in her position and barely acknowledged Rhea.

Rhea stood at the foot of her bed, eyes cast downwards awkwardly. "My lady... I was sorry to hear... about your father. I often heard that he was a good man – honourable."

"Yet he was murdered for treason." Lyarra sobbed and managed to scoff. "The world treats honourable men abominably."

"I suppose it does," her handmaiden agreed. Lyarra buried her face in her pillow and allowed her cries to fill up the room again. "It does pain me to see you so upset, my lady. Is there anything I can do?"

"Can you go to King's Landing for me? Pretend to be me?" Lyarra asked. She sat up in the bed and fixed Rhea with a cold stare. "Can you bring my father back to life? Can you bring me the king's _head_ for what he has done to my father – a man ten times more honourable than he will ever be?"

Shocked at her mistress' outburst, Rhea cast her eyes anywhere but at Lyarra. She stammered for a response. "No- no, my lady. I cannot."

Lyarra sighed, guilt rushing over her as she realised how unfair she had been. "Forgive me, Rhea. That was... wrong of me. You were only being kind." _I am becoming like Jaime. Snappish and inconsiderate. If he was here... would he comfort me? Or would he take his sister's side?_ Lyarra didn't want to think about it, knowing well what the answer was.

"There is nothing to forgive, my lady," Rhea assured, smiling kindly at Lyarra. _Perhaps she's not so bad after all. Though she may be Tywin's spy, she is kind and dutiful. What more can I ask for in a southern handmaiden?_ "I know that grief can make us do and say things that we might not mean."

Not knowing how to respond to that, Lyarra merely nodded. She glanced towards the window, noticing that the curtains were still pulled over. She had no idea what time it was. "Do you know what time it is, Rhea?"

"Almost night-time, my lady. I'll have you brought some supper, if you'd like," Rhea said.

"No, I'm-" The thought of food made her want to get sick. Lyarra then realised that it wasn't just her she had to take care of. Her baby was almost full term. It needed food. She smiled at Rhea and nodded. "Yes, Rhea. Thank you."

She could not afford to be numbed by grief any longer. She had wasted a whole day of travel time. A fortnight to get to King's Landing, that was all she had. She couldn't even afford to use a carriage. She would have go to King's Landing on horseback, even it might be harmful for her child. _I have no choice._ She placed her hand on her stomach. _We must both be strong and durable. What other choice do I have?_

"Rhea," she called again. The handmaiden turned around. "Help me pack my things. I'll leave tomorrow at dawn."

* * *

The sun was beating down on them. Lyarra couldn't find it in her to marvel at the wonderful blue sky or enjoy the blistering sun, not when every muscle in her body ached and sweat was pouring out of her. If anything, the heat was torture. They had been travelling for two weeks and were nearing King's Landing. Lyarra refused to allow her soldiers, her handmaiden or their horses rest, not when she risked angering the king. They hadn't slept in two days. Lyarra tried to joke with them, saying that if she in her condition could manage, then so could they. _But I am not managing. I want to fall off my horse and go to sleep in the dirt._

She felt her eye lids become heavy with fatigue and closed them for a few minutes. The next thing she knew, she was almost falling off her horse. Luckily, one of the guardsmen caught her on one side while Rhea held her arm on the other.

"Thank you," she nodded at the soldier who merely inclined his head towards her with a pitiful look on his face. She turned to look at her handmaiden, about to give her thanks as well, before she noticed the disapproving look on Rhea's face. "Don't look at me like that."

"I only worry for you, my lady," Rhea said. "You and the baby. You're a mere fortnight away from giving birth. All this stress is not good for the child – or you, for that matter."

Lyarra gripped the reins of her horse tighter until her knuckles became white. Fatigue made her grouchy, and she didn't want to take out her anger on Rhea again, not when her handmaiden had been so good to her for the last two weeks. "If I had the choice, I would have stayed in Casterly Rock until the baby is born at least." Lyarra placed her hand on her stomach, her face becoming white as she remembered Queen Cersei's letter. "They threatened me, Rhea. I had to."

Rhea placed her head on top of Lyarra's and gave it a squeeze. Lyarra offered her handmaiden a small smile. _A spy she may be, but she is the only friend I have._ "Will you stay in King's Landing to birth the child?"

She shook her head vehemently. "Absolutely not. There is no way I am having my child in that dreadful place. We need not rush on our way back. I'd rather have the baby in some cheap inn on the way home." Lyarra laughed humourlessly. "Or a field in the middle of nowhere."

Though she wasn't looking directly at her handmaiden, she could feel Rhea's eyes upon her, narrowed and focused. Lyarra did her best to ignore her handmaiden and looked straight ahead. The Red Keep was now in sight, though they were still a mile away. Lyarra had to admit that it was a wondrous structure, even if she felt only contempt for the Red Keep. Her father met his downfall in the Red Keep. He was a prisoner – a convicted traitor. Sansa was a prisoner in the Red Keep still, and Lyarra would soon join her. She sighed and spurred her horse to go faster, allowing her guards to follow close behind.

They arrived in the keep just after noon. Lyarra dismounted her horse and allowed a stable boy to take care of him.

"Lady Lannister." Lyarra heard a man call from behind her. She spun around and tried to place the man, but could not for the life of her. He, however, regarded her as though they were old friends. His grin was unnerving. "Forgive me. I forget, you must not know who I am." He gave a small chuckle. "I am Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin. I was friends with your mother when she was girl. She probably mentioned me. I was her father's ward."

Lyarra shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not." Realising that she must have sounded rather rude, Lyarra added. "Of course, Mother spoke so rarely of her childhood."

He smiled at her again – that creepy, ingenuine smile of his that she already loathed. "Of course," he repeated. He offered Lyarra his arm which she took with a grateful smile. "The king has sent me to escort you to the throne room. It is your first time in the Red Keep, is it not?"

"Why must I meet with his Grace so soon? Could I not freshen up first?" Lyarra asked. She felt very dishevelled and messy. If she was to be presented before the court, she would like to be presentable at the very least.

"I am afraid not, Lady Lannister." Petyr flashed her another smile. He lowered his voice when he spoke again. "From my experience of kings, they do not like to be kept waiting."

"Though I have little experience with kings and court, I can agree with you on that," she commented, too tired to try to be mannerly. _So the king not only expected me to arrive in King's Landing within a fortnight, but to arrive smelling like roses and looking the proper lady. What a loathsome..._ She stopped her own train of thought, knowing that it did not do well to think badly of the king before meeting him, in case she said something impolite.

"I regretted that I was unable to attend your wedding to Ser Jaime. As Master of Coin I was much too busy," Petyr said to her. Lyarra was about to respond when Petyr continued to speak. "It was a very grand affair, I heard. Lord Tywin spared no expense."

"I am very lucky," Lyarra replied. Her head began to whirl as they approached the Great Hall. She was nervous. So many eyes would be on her, watching her no doubt antagonistic conversation with the king. What if she said something impolite or offensive? The boy king killed her father! What if she was unable to stop herself from saying something stupid?

 _But I must. I must be perfect for the king and queen. I must hold my tongue._

"And to become with child so quickly," Petyr drawled on, glancing pointedly towards her very large stomach. Lyarra placed her hand on her bump, as though to protect it. It was the first thing every courtier look at as they passed her. The Red Keep was very different to Casterly Rock, and incomparable to Winterfell. Lyarra barely listened to Petyr, only hearing the final part of his long rant. "Ser Jaime must have been delighted! Not as delighted as Lord Tywin, I presume! To have both an heir and another on the way. You have done House Lannister a great service, Lady Lannister."

"I do hope so," she replied. They were standing just outside the Great Hall now.

"I fear I must leave you now," Petyr said to her. He leaned closer to her and whispered into Lyarra's ear. "Disagree with nothing. If the king insults your family, agree. If he insults your father, agree. Nobility will not get you anywhere. Not here."

With that, he left her. Lyarra took a deep breath and waited for the herald to announce her before walking into the Great Hall and towards the king. Joffrey was just as she remembered him. He looked similar to Jaime, although while Jaime's expression displayed arrogance, Joffrey's displayed childishness – petulance, even.

"Lady Lannister," the king greeted her, grinning. "Or shall I call you aunt?"

"Your Grace," she replied and attempted to kneel. A Stark kneeling before him was no doubt the sight King Joffrey craved to see. Lyarra tried, but her bump was much too large, and Lyarra knew that if she was to kneel, she wouldn't be able to get up again without making an embarrassment of herself. She looked up at the king, hoping that he would give her permission to stand again, but of course, Joffrey did no such thing.

"Lower," Joffrey instead commanded, leering at his good-aunt with malice in his eyes. _It was a mistake to expect such a vile monster to show leniency._ She looked to the queen beside him for help, foolishly thinking that Queen Cersei, having been pregnant herself three times, would sympathise with her. Lyarra was sorely disappointed. "Your stand before your king. On your knees. _Now_!"

"Your Grace!" It was the queen's brother – and indeed Lyarra's good-brother – who intervened. Lyarra had heard that Lord Tyrion had been made Hand of the King. "Your uncle's wife is heavy with child-"

"That she is, uncle," Joffrey interrupted, grinning. His mad eyes danced from Lyarra to his uncle, gleefully exerting his power over them. "But she is also the sister of Robb Stark! She will bend the knee to me, regardless of her condition. If Robb Stark will not swear fealty to me, then it is his sister's duty to do so. Do you agree, Lady Lannister?"

 _You monstrous brat. Robb is twice the man you'll ever be!_ She wanted to yell. She wanted to scream profanities. But Lyarra Stark did not have a death wish, so she bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself to nod. "Yes, Your Grace." Ignoring the muffled laughs of the nobles who were watching the exchange, Lyarra grit her teeth together and struggled to get onto her knees. She wobbled and almost fell face first on the cold floor below her, but managed to regain some sort of steadiness and kneeled before the king. She dreaded having to get back up.

"Very good," Joffrey complimented. He smirked at her. Lyarra noticed the queen smirking as well. "Do you, Lyarra of House Lannister, swear fealty to me, your _rightful_ king?"

Lyarra swallowed the lump in her throat – and her _pride_. "I do."

Joffrey eagerly continued. "Do you renounce and reject your brother Robb Stark's ridiculous uprising and his treasonous campaign for Northern independence?"

"What?" Lyarra looked between the king, his mother and Lord Tyrion with confusion in her eyes, waiting for someone to explain. They all expected her to know, but she didn't have a clue.

" _Do you_?" the king repeated, becoming short with her. He gripped the armrest of the Iron Throne tightly and glared at Lyarra's kneeling form.

"You have no idea, have you?" the queen asked, grinning at Lyarra. Lyarra shook her head. "Your brother, the foolish child, has decided to call himself the King in the North and wishes to make the North an independent kingdom. You condemn this as an act of treason, don't you, _Lady Lannister_?"

Her brother – _her_ Robb – the _King in the North_? Robb had never expressed any interest in being a king, or starting a rebellion against the south. He never cared much for change. In fact, Lyarra would have considered her brother to be traditional if anything, and certainly not a revolutionary. Perhaps their father's death made him resent the south even more. _Oh, Robb, what have you done?!_ Joffrey would never accept Robb as the northern king, or acknowledge northern independence. That meant that the war was likely to drag on until one side was defeated. There would be no negotiating a compromise. And _that_ meant that Lyarra wouldn't see her family for a very long time – perhaps never again. Lyarra wanted to cry.

She swallowed her feelings, _again_ , and spoke as clearly as she could, though her voice shook. "I do."

Joffrey glared at her, noticing her hesitation. "Do you swear to serve and obey me as the one true king of Westeros, and condemn the acts of your traitorous brother for what they are – _treason_?"

 _Forgive me, Robb._

"I do."

Joffrey sat on the edge of his throne, looking at her viciously. Lyarra remembered what Jaime told her once. _Pretend it's not happening,_ he had said, a few days before he went off to war. _Go away inside._ Lyarra heeded his advise now as she waited for the king to speak again, well aware that he was saving the most hurtful question for last.

"Your father was arrested in that very spot, where you kneel before me now." Lyarra's eyes filled with tears. _Go away inside._ "He questioned my right to rule. He wanted to take the throne for himself. All those years of pretending to be an honourable man, when he only ever wished to take the throne of his best friend... he was quite the actor, wasn't he? He had you fooled as well, did he not?"

She couldn't trust herself to answer. Tears fell from her eyes against her will. _Go away inside._ She needed to get her act together, that she knew. She needed to please the king. She knew it was dangerous to grieve for a traitor, but Lyarra could not help it. He was her father and she loved him! And he was dead. Killed by a vicious boy king!

"Your father was rightfully executed by my order for his crimes. His actions were treasonous. Lord Eddard Stark lost his head for his treasonous acts." Lyarra let out a sob. She shut her mouth and willed herself to toughen up. _Father would not want this. Father would want me to get out of this keep with my head._ Joffrey grinned. "Do you acknowledge that your father, Lord Eddard of House Stark, was a vile traitor who deserved his fate? And that his beliefs and his actions were treason against the rightful king?"

Lyarra looked up at him, tears in her eyes that she hoped he couldn't see, and nodded, trying to find her voice. When she did, she spoke weaker than she would have liked, and promised the king. "I do."

The king narrowed his eyes at her. _He looks... disappointed,_ Lyarra noted, as though he expected her to throw a tantrum or make some sort of scene. _You'd like that, wouldn't you, Your Grace? You and your mother. It would give you both an excuse to do away with me._ Lyarra refused to give them any excuse. She had learned from the mistakes of her father. She would not allow herself to become another Stark blinded by honour and trust. Blinking away her tears, she ignored the pain of grief that had settled in her heart and tried to act like a loyal subject.

"Very well," the king eventually replied. Another grin split his face in half as an idea most likely popped into his head. Lyarra's stomach churned. "It would please me greatly if you were to stay in King's Landing, until your child comes."

Lyarra remembered what she said to Rhea earlier. _In a filthy inn. Or out in the open in a field, in front of all my guards._ Anywhere was better than King's Landing. She forced a polite smile on her lips. "I thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace, but I do not wish to trouble you."

"Nonsense," Joffrey grinned. "There are more than enough rooms in this keep. Right, uncle?"

Tyrion gave Lyarra a pitiful look. "Yes, Your Grace."

"And it is my duty to ensure that my cousin arrives safely," Joffrey stated. "I would not forgive myself if something was to happy to him on your way back to Casterly Rock. You would not refuse your king the chance to help his kin, would you?"

 _You never cared before._ Lyarra saw that she had no choice. What the king wanted, the king would get. "Of course not, Your Grace. Thank you."

Still grinning at her as though she was his prey, the king gave her a dismissive wave. Lyarra took that as her leave and tried to stand up. She failed miserably and couldn't even manage to scramble onto her feet. When she looked up at the king and his mother, she saw them smirking at the sight. She blinked away tears. She heard someone approach her and looked up to find her good-brother, Lord Tyrion. He offered her his arm. Lyarra gratefully took it, thanking him most earnestly as he led her out of the throne room.

"You must be exhausted," Tyrion said sympathetically. Lyarra looked at him, surprised. Though he'd been kind to her, she hadn't expected a member of House Lannister to care so much. "I heard my darling sister and nephew gave you a fortnight to get to King's Landing. You came on horseback I presume."

"Yes," she replied, frowning. "It was the only way to get here on time."

"It must have been difficult, given your condition," Tyrion said, eyeing her stomach just as every courtier had. Lyarra would have been irritated if Tyrion had not just saved her from public humiliation. "Forgive me, but your bump is very large, my lady. I don't remember my sister ever bearing such a bump." Lyarra chuckled in response. They stopped at a door. Tyrion gestured for her to go in before him. "Come, there is something I must speak to you about."

Tyrion led her to his solar. Lyarra believed it to be the Tower of the Hand, though she did not voice her discovery. She pressed her lips together. This was her father's final residence before they brought him to the Tower. Lyarra shook her head slightly. She would have to stop getting upset about everything if she was to survive in King's Landing.

Her good-brother sat down in the chair behind his desk and indicated for her sit. Lyarra gladly obliged. Her legs were sore, as was her back and her arse as well. It had been a rough fortnight. Tyrion poured two glasses of wine – Dornish wine, if Lyarra was to guess – and handed Lyarra one. She looked at him oddly.

"I shouldn't. The baby..."

"Oh, yes, yes. I forgot. Forgive me." He took back the glass of wine and gave Lyarra a grin. "I'll just have to drink them both."

Lyarra laughed at him, noting the stark difference between him and Jaime. Though they both were gifted with silver tongues and wit, there was something kinder about Tyrion. Nevertheless, Lyarra had no time for idle chit-chat and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed. "What is it you wanted to speak with me about?"

"My brother Jaime," Tyrion answered. "He has been captured. By your brother, actually. Quite ironic when you think about it."

She straightened in her seat, suddenly becoming much less tired. "Have they offered to trade? My sisters for Jaime – it's the quickest way to end this silliness."

"Indeed it is," Tyrion replied. He narrowed his eyes at Lyarra, watching her carefully. "But there is just one problem."

"Oh?" Lyarra responded. "And what's that?"

"We only have one of your sisters." Tyrion paused, gauging Lyarra's reaction to the news. Lyarra's eyes widened. "Sansa. The other girl-"

"Arya," Lyarra corrected him, her mind was far away, wrecked with thoughts. Arya was but a child, and she was all alone. Though she had to admit that if any of them – Ned Stark's three daughters – had to survive alone on the road, Arya would be the best bet. That didn't take away from the fact that she was a young girl who was without protection.

" _Arya_ ," he repeated, "slipped away when your father was arrested. We haven't been able to find her." On any other occasion, Lyarra would have laughed at her sister's remarkably consistent behaviour. When they were in Winterfell, if Arya decided to go missing, nobody could find her. It seemed her little sister was using that skill to her benefit now. Nonetheless, Lyarra's stomach filled with dread and worry.

"So she just ran away?"

Tyrion took another sip of wine. "Yes."

"On her own?"

"It would seem so," Tyrion clarified. Lyarra sighed and fell back in her chair, slouching. She was exhausted. Tyrion eyed his young good-sister and decided to lighten the conversation. "When are you due to have the child?"

Lyarra gave him a small smile and placed her hand on her stomach. The baby gave a small kick. "Within the next few weeks, I think. I haven't been keeping track, what with everything going on."

"The king shouldn't ordered you to come to King's Landing, not in your condition. That whole spectacle was futile display of power. Nobody will think better of King Joffrey for it." Tyrion poured himself another glass of wine. Lyarra found herself craving some. "You, however, held yourself well. You were right not to argue with him."

Unable to stop herself, Lyarra scoffed. "I'm a coward. He insulted my family. If I was brave, I would have defended them."

"No. If you were stupid, perhaps. Then again, stupidity and bravery are often all too similar," Tyrion mused, sipping his wine. Lyarra watched him closely, noticing how his eyes softened all of a sudden. "I am sorry about your father. He was a good man."

If she was clever, she would tell him that her father was a traitor, that he deserved to die for his crimes. If she was clever, she would lie. A clever girl would know that one cannot trust anyone in King's Landing. A clever girl would be able to lie. But Lyarra was tired of lying, of acting, so she allowed her shoulders to drop and accepted his condolences.

"Thank you," she replied. She chewed at her lower lip. "My mother captured you."

To Lyarra's surprise, Tyrion actually laughed. "That she did. A fierce woman, your mother, and a most fierce adversary. I was unlucky enough to have gotten on her bad side." Noticing how Lyarra was regarding him suspiciously, Tyrion sighed and clarified what they were both thinking. "A misunderstanding, that is all. She thought I was the one who sent the assassin after your brother. I did not."

"Do you know who did?" Lyarra asked, surprising herself with her boldness.

Tyrion chuckled. "No. I do not. I imagine you have your suspicions, however. Your mother certainly did."

"Was my brother with you? When she took you?" Lyarra asked him.

Her good-brother took a moment to answer. "No. But I did see your brother when I was passing through Winterfell. The boy is well. I designed a saddle for him so he can continue to ride horses."

 _Perhaps not all Lannisters are so horrible._ Lyarra had thought the same of Jaime once, more than once actually, and had been sorely disappointed. Yet Tyrion seemed more... _consistent_ , than his brother. Lyarra smiled at him. "Thank you for that. Bran always loved horse-riding."

He smiled back at her and continued with his story. "Of course, I then had the misfortune of meeting your mother in a tavern in the Riverlands where she had men loyal to her father arrest me. She had me brought to your Aunt Lysa in the Eyrie, where I was put in a rather interesting cell. It only had one wall, you see. Quite frightening, actually. Then I had to endure a farce of a trial. Luckily, a sellsword by the name of Bronn stepped up to be my champion and protected my honour." Tyrion raised his glass. "To chivalrous sellswords."

Lyarra merely gave him a small smile. She had never known her mother to be so... rash. "My mother's actions were impulsive. Ever since Bran's fall, she has been paranoid and not at all herself."

"I heard she fled Casterly Rock in the middle of the night with your brother, without a single word." Again, Tyrion watched her closely for her reaction. He licked his lips. "Caused quite the stir."

"Like I said," Lyarra repeated, "She wasn't herself."

Tyrion nodded. "Understandable." He paused for a few moments, deep in thought. Lyarra would give anything to know what was going through his head. Tyrion took one last gulp of wine before jumping onto his feet. He addressed Lyarra kindly. "I won't keep you any longer."

Lyarra pushed herself to her feet and inclined her head respectfully towards her good-brother before leaving his solar. As soon as she reached her new chambers, Lyarra collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** 35 reviews?! You guys are too good! Hope you liked the update!


	12. Little Lion

**Author's Note:** Here it is, the birth! I think you'll like the choice of name. This is also the first chapter in part two!

* * *

 **PART II  
**

 _the caged wolf of king's landing_

* * *

 **Little Lion**

Until now, Tyrion had been lucky enough to never have heard a birthing woman's screams. He hadn't been in the capital for any of Cersei's three childbirths and there hadn't been a birth in Casterly Rock since his own. Despite this, Tyrion had always known that childbirth was a painful and occasionally fateful ordeal – after all, his own mother had died because of birthing complications. But as he was forced to listen to his good-sister's screams of pain, Tyrion remarked to himself that nothing could have prepared him for the real thing.

He sat with Cersei in the small council chamber where they awaited news of Lyarra and the child His sister, dear Cersei, seemed entirely unaffected. If anything, Cersei looked irritated, as though Lyarra Stark's screams of utter agony were bothering her. "It's been a whole day. More, actually. Two nights. You'd think she'd have had the damn whelp by now."

"I'm sure our sister-in-law shares your impatience," Tyrion replied, sitting opposite Cersei. He poured them both a glass of wine. "From her screams of pain, I can safely say she's not enjoying her ordeal very much."

Cersei gave a small, sardonic laugh. "You forget, brother, that I have undergone the same... _ordeal_. Three times. I only wish that the little wolf could hurry up and birth the child. Save us all another sleepless night."

"I would have thought the screams of your good-sister would put you to sleep quicker. Like a lullaby for the... shall I say the less sympathetic of us?" Tyrion flashed his sister a cheeky grin, enjoying how her face contorted with anger.

"How you wound me, brother," Cersei replied, taking a sip of her wine and then licking her lips as she glowered at him. "You wouldn't understand what this is like for me. Having to listen to _that_ all day and night. A living, screaming reminder of the day you took my mother from me."

Tyrion pursed his lips together. Of course she would have to bring up their mother somehow and paint him as the wretched monster who killed their beloved mother, as though he somehow, as a babe, willed her dead. "It must be quite traumatic for you," Tyrion drawled, sarcasm laced in his voice.

"Quite," Cersei repeated, a snarl on her lips.

Before his sister could say anything else, Maester Pycelle came limping into the room, shuffling his feet. Tyrion rolled his eyes. _This_ was the man expected to deliver the next heir to Casterly Rock? Lyarra Stark could easily suffer some fatal complication during the time it took for the old maester to get from one side of the castle to the other.

"Your Grace, Lord Tyrion," Pycelle stammered, giving them both a shallow bow. Tyrion raised his glass to the maester, who merely looked at him oddly before stammering on. "I regret to inform you that there have been some... complications with Lady Lannister and the child."

"Complications?" Cersei echoed. Tyrion noticed how she didn't seem perturbed at all by the news.

"Yes," Pycelle stuttered. "Lady Lannister has lost much blood and suffers from a fever and... delirium. She has more than once called for her father." He looked at the both of them, feeling the need to clarify. "Who is... dead."

"Yes, yes, we know Lord Stark is dead. Thank you, Pycelle," Cersei snapped at him. "And there is nothing to be done?"

"You are certain that she will... die?" Tyrion asked carefully. _The girl is barely six and ten,_ Tyrion thought to himself. _Certainly too young to die and, perhaps, too young to bear a child._

"I would not say for certain, Lord Hand," Pycelle answered. "Though I will say this. I have helped many women give birth in my time as Grand Maester, and I have seen this affliction many times. Some have overcome it. Some... have not. Often, there is a choice to make."

"What kind of choice?" Tyrion prompted. He was becoming weary of the maester's theatrics.

Pycelle let out a heavy sigh. "If the choice comes down to mother or child..."

"The child, obviously," Cersei replied immediately. She gave Tyrion a smile in response to his disgusted expression. "Jaime can find another wife. There are many eligible brides in Westeros. Lannister children, however..." Cersei's grin only widened. "They are precious."

Tyrion narrowed his eyes at his sister. Only moments ago she was calling the child a 'whelp' and insulting it's very existence. Sometimes he wondered how Cersei had become so cruel. Tyrion addressed the maester. "It will not come down to that. Make sure of it."

He gave them both one last shallow bow before shuffling out of the room. Tyrion watched his sister closely, noticing how nonchalant she was about the whole situation. "I do wonder what has caused you to be so nonchalant about your sister-in-law's well-being. I know you care about Jaime. Do you not wish his wife and child well?"

Cersei straightened her back and fixed him with a smirk. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I would like to think you above jealousy, but I'm afraid I cannot," Tyrion retorted smoothly. "To be jealous of your brother's wife because she can bear Jaime a legitimate child... that is a sorry situation to be in, truly. I do pity you, sister." He took another chug of wine, well aware of his sister's glare upon him.

"I am not jealous of Jaime's child-bride," Cersei snarled, her voice low and dangerous. Tyrion would have been scared, had he not lived through many of Cersei's meaningless threats. "He can have as many brats with her as he wants. What do I care?"

"Ah, but you do care," Tyrion teased. He knew that he was playing a dangerous game. When Cersei was angry, she became reckless, capable of making the most unreasonable of decisions, yet Tyrion found teasing her worth the risk. "Because although he has fathered your children, you never allowed him to show them any affection. They became nothing to him. This child, however, will be entirely, unashamedly Jaime's. Jaime will love Lyarra's children as he could never love yours." Tyrion raised his glass, grinning to himself. "And that enrages you, does it not?"

Cersei clutched her glass in her hand, so tightly Tyrion expected it to shatter to pieces at any moment. She laughed coldly. "You do not get to pretend to understand how I feel. I despise our good-sister because she is a _traitor's_ daughter. If she was to die this instant, I would weep with joy because another one of our enemies would be dead. Jaime has nothing to do it."

"Of course not," Tyrion agreed, simply because it was simpler to do so. He heard the door opening and watched Joffrey as he joined them in the small council chamber. He was grinning like a mad man. "What has you so happy, Your Grace?"

" _That._ " The king raised his finger, indicating that it was the sound of screaming that delighted him. Tyrion wasn't surprised. "Today, a Stark once again suffers for their crimes. If the gods are just, then my aunt will follow her father into the grave. It would be fitting, would it not?"

Tyrion pointedly looked at Cersei. _See what you've raised?_ He wanted to ask her. _See what a monster you raised?_ Of course, Joffrey was the perfect king in Cersei's eyes, crafted in her own image. Tyrion wanted to slap some sense into them both.

"Uncle Jaime would be all the better for it," Joffrey continued on, almost bouncing up and down with sadistic delight. "A Stark is not a suitable wife for a Lannister, no matter how fertile she may be." Joffrey was about to start another rant when the guard announced that someone wished to see them. Tyrion allowed them entry before Joffrey or Cersei could speak.

"Your Graces, my lord." The young girl curtsied to them. She was a pretty young thing with pale skin and dark hair. There was something familiar about her. "I am Lady Lannister's handmaiden," she explained. _Ah that is it._ The girl had been one of the servants in Casterly Rock. "She is suffering a difficult birth and..." She took a deep breath, preparing to say her piece before Joffrey interrupted her.

"What is it? Spit it out!" Joffrey snapped.

The girl looked startled. _Justifiably. Joffrey may be a cruel idiot, but he is the most powerful cruel idiot in the realm._ She stammered for a response. "My apologies, Your Grace. Lady Lannister has asked for her sister. Lady Sansa. I would not ask if it wasn't for... I believe Lady Sansa could greatly improve her sister's chances of surviving the birth. She needs someone with her that will make her feel comfortable."

"Absolutely not," Cersei objected. "Lady Sansa is a traitor's daughter, as is her sister. They cannot be allowed to be in the same room."

"I will not allow it," the king added, shaking his head vehemently. "The two have traitors blood. Having the two of them in the same room would be disastrous. No doubt they would be glad of the opportunity to conspire against the crown!"

Tyrion rolled his eyes and fixed Joffrey with a glare. "In case you haven't noticed, Lady Lannister is suffering from a difficult birth and isn't exactly in the right form to conspire against the crown." He turned to the handmaiden. "I will get Sansa. Go, tend to your mistress."

The handmaiden curtsied to him and gave Tyrion a grateful smile before scurrying off. As soon as she had left, the king advanced on him, wagging his index finger at his much shorter uncle. "You cannot do that! _I_ am the king! Sansa is _my_ prisoner! Your orders do not overrule mine!"

"In this case, they do," Tyrion said to him calmly. He didn't spare his nephew another word and went to fetch Sansa Stark.

* * *

Sansa had spent the last day and a half praying. She could hear her sister's screams as she prayed. The sound made Sansa weep, knowing that her sister was in pain and she was completely unable to help was a most horrible feeling. She prayed that the baby would be well, but most importantly, she prayed that Lyarra would be in good health after the birth. Perhaps it was cruel to think such things, but Sansa believed that while Lyarra could have other children, Sansa would never have another older sister.

 _And I was so cruel to her. Teasing and taunting her about her marriage and how she acted. You stupid, stupid girl,_ Sansa chided herself. The memories only made her sob harder. Her prayers – and, indeed, her shameful thoughts – were interrupted by a loud knocking on her door. Sansa jumped up immediately and bid the person to enter. It was the Imp – the queen's brother and the Hand of the King.

"My lady," Lord Tyrion inclined his head towards her. Sansa curtsied. Her heart started beating dangerously fast as she began to think the worst. "Your sister has requested your presence in the birthing chamber. The king was... reluctant at first, but has been persuaded." Tyrion gave her a small smile. "Go. Be with your sister."

She nodded vehemently, tears shining in her eyes. She didn't trust herself to speak so she merely curtsied again to Lord Tyrion before rushing out of her bedchamber and towards her sister's. She had an idea of where Lyarra might be, but even if she didn't, the screams would be enough to guide her.

Though she initially tried to be composed, Sansa was too anxious to be satisfied with a fast walking pace. Her pace increased until she was eventually running. The two guards that were guarding her sister's door looked at her oddly before they stepped aside and allowed her inside. Lyarra looked so different. She was pale and writhing in pain, her bed sheets coloured with blood. Sansa rushed to her bed-side and kneeled, clutching Lyarra's hand in hers.

Lyarra had tears in her eyes as she turned her head to look at Sansa. Her face was sweaty and devoid of all colour. "I'm scared, Sansa. It's been... too long. The baby should be here by now. What if it... what if I..." She left it unsaid, but Sansa knew what Lyarra was implying.

She shook her head, tears clouding her vision as she struggled to find the right words. "You won't. You cannot. I will be here the entire time."

"I'm so tired," Lyarra complained. Her eyelids began to drop as she struggled to keep her eyes open. "I just want to sleep."

The room stank of blood. The smell made Sansa gag, but most of all, he made her fear for her sister's life. Their grandmother had died in childbirth, what if Lyarra was to follow her? _No. She cannot. I will not let her!_ Sansa refused to believe that she was powerless. In the past few months, the gods had taken so much from them both. Sansa refused to believe the gods – old or new – could be so cruel.

"You can't, Lyarra. Just stay awake a little longer," Sansa said to her sister, brushing her hair away from her face. Her hair had been dampened by sweat. _They don't tell you about this in the songs. In the songs, the woman presents her husband with a baby and that's it. They don't sing about the pain or the sweat or the blood. Good gods, there's so much blood._ Lyarra started to fall asleep again. Panicked, Sansa turned to Maester Pycelle who was standing at the foot of Lyarra's bed. "She's going to sleep. She can't – what should I do?"

Pycelle shook his head, a mournful expression on his face. "I don't know."

Sansa's eyes went wide. Not knowing what else to do, she started shaking Lyarra. "Lya, Lya, come on, wake up!" Her shaking managed to wake her up, but Lyarra started screaming again and writhing in pain. Sansa sobbed and wondered if she had done the wrong thing. "You have to have the baby. Come on, Lya. You can do this."

Another ear-piercing scream escaped Lyarra's lips. She turned away from Sansa, curled up in a ball and whimpered in pain. "It hurts, Sansa. Make it stop! Please, it hurts!" Lyarra screamed again. Sansa rubbed her sister's back, hiccuping as she tried to stop herself from breaking down as well. "Where's Mother? I want my mother!"

"Mother's not here, Lya. She would be if she could. You know that!" Sansa tried to soothe her. It didn't seem as though Lyarra heard her, as her sister let out another cry of pain. Sansa placed her hand against Lyarra's forehead, feeling how hot she was. "She's burning up. What's happening to her?" she asked the old maester who seemed deep in thought. "What's going on? Maester Pycelle, please!"

"She's been delirious for the last few hours," Pycelle explained. "She was asking for the late Lord Stark before you came. I fear that she may be suffering from an infection. As well as the amount of blood lost..."

"What are you saying?" Sansa prompted him just as Lyarra's handmaiden appeared and pressed a cold cloth against Lyarra's forehead. She looked between the two, noticing the sorry look the handmaiden gave her. She was becoming panicked, and her panic was only heightened by Lyarra's screams getting louder and louder.

"I am saying that there is not much more to be done for Lady Lannister," Pycelle stammered. "It's in the gods' hands now."

Sansa couldn't help herself. She started sobbing uncontrollably, clutching onto her sister's hand for dear life and she began muttering prayers. _Save her. I've lost a father. My brother and mother are miles away. I cannot lose her too._

* * *

It was all a blur to Lyarra.

One moment, she was reading in the seat by the fire and the next she was surrounded by men and women she barely recognised. She recognised Rhea, her handmaiden, but everyone else were strangers. She recognised the heads floating around the room as well, though they couldn't possibly be real! The more they spoke to her, the more vivid and real they became. Lyarra was terrified.

First, there was her father. He called her a traitor and a liar. Then, there was her mother and Robb. They called her a traitor as well – _a Lannister –_ and cursed the baby she was birthing. Lastly, she saw Bran. He was only a head, yet the mere sight of him made her cry.

"You know," he said to her, his voice was vicious and accusing – and much too real to be dismissed as a mere hallucination. Lyarra was frightened by how vivid he was.

"What?" she asked her little brother. "What do you mean?"

"You know what he did," Bran accused, the head floating closer to her. "You _know_. Why do you deny it?"

Birthing pains were horrible. It was as though she was being split in two, yet nothing could ever hurt worse than this – than being accused and condemned by the family she loved. She started to cry. "Stop it, stop it, Bran! I don't know anything!" She screamed, the pains becoming worse again.

"Yes, you do." Bran grinned viciously at her, so unlike the Bran she remembered. "You know what he did to me. Why are you lying?"

"I'm not-" Lyarra was interrupted by a shooting pain up her abdomen. "I'm not lying!"

"It doesn't matter if you're lying to me," Bran replied. "I'm only a figment of your fever dreams. What's pathetic is that you're lying to yourself. _Traitor_."

"I'm not a traitor!" Lyarra yelled at him, doubling over in pain and screaming. "I'm not a traitor," she muttered to herself, over and over again. "I'm not a traitor... I'm not a traitor... I'm no..."

"You're alright, Lya. You're no traitor. You're safe. I'm here." Lyarra turned her head and saw her sister. _Sansa_. The sight of her red-headed older sister filled her with so much joy and relief. She reached out to touch her sister's face to make sure she was real and cupped Sansa's cheek in her hand.

"Sansa?" Lyarra asked. "How long have you been here?" Sansa's eyes filled with tears. "What's wrong?"

"I've been here for the last hour," Sansa told her. "You don't remember?" Lyarra shook her head. Everything was a blank. Sansa pushed back her tears and smiled at Lyarra, pushing back her sweaty hair from her face. "That doesn't matter. I'm here now and I'm not leaving you."

"What's happening to me?" Lyarra whimpered as another pain – far worse than any of the others she had experienced – ripped through her. She felt as though the baby was trying to rip through her.

"Good gods, a miracle!" the old man at the end of her bed exclaimed suddenly as he peered up her nightgown. Lyarra was in too much pain to care about modesty. "Lady Lannister, you must push, as hard as you can. Do you understand?" He spoke to her as though she was a simpleton – or worse, _a child_.

"Why must I?" Lyarra asked, confused.

"For the baby," Sansa told her, holding her hand even tighter. Her sister was beaming at her. "Your baby is coming, Lya. It's time to push. Clutch my hand as tightly as you must – I don't mind – and _push_."

Lyarra nodded and pushed as hard as she could with what little energy she had. She screamed so loudly that she was sure the peasants could hear her in Fleabottom. "Get out of me! Get it out!" she shouted, trying her best to keep pushing before eventually being overcome by pain and fatigue. She plopped back onto the bed, panting.

"You must keep pushing!" the old man stammered. "For your sake and the child's!"

"I can't – I cannot," Lyarra whimpered, shaking her head. "I cannot. Please don't make me. It hurts. It hurts so much."

"Lya, please!" She heard Sansa sob again. "Just a little longer. You have to!"

All she wanted to do was sleep, or slip off to some kind of darkness. Many women had perished in childbirth before her. Was she to be one of them? At only six and ten, was she to die while birthing her first child? She did not want to die. With that in mind, Lyarra mustered all the strength she had left and pushed again, clutching Sansa's hand so hard she thought she might break it, and grabbing onto the sheets with her other hand. Too caught up in pain, Lyarra thought she heard Pycelle say that he could see the crown. The pain became unbearable, like nothing she had ever experienced before, and Lyarra slammed her head against the headboard behind her repeatedly in a nonsensical attempt to stop the pain.

"Ow, my head!" she shouted, feeling light-headed.

"Oh, don't do that!" Sansa told her. "Just hold my hand."

"One more big push, my lady," Pycelle promised.

Lyarra obliged and pushed for what she hoped would be the last time. After all the pain and hardship, she felt a merciful release rush over the lower part of her body and then a baby cry. She flopped backwards and laid in her bed, panting. How glorious it was, to be freed from such torture!

"Never again," Lyarra declared lazily as she felt herself being taken by sleep. She was woken by a familiar voice and opened her eyes again, seeing Rhea standing over her with her baby.

"My lady," Rhea called, her face bright with a huge smile. "My lady, you have a son."

"A son?" Lyarra repeated tiredly. Her vision was blurred, but she could make out the figure of her little boy. She smiled at the sight. "A son." Rhea nodded happily and placed her son in her arms. Sansa helped Lyarra hold him. Lyarra lowered her voice to a whisper so that only Sansa could hear her. "His name is Jon. After our brother."

"Lyarra, you can't!" Sansa cried, looking horrified. "You're not thinking straight. The king and queen will not like it!"

"Jaime said..." Lyarra trailed off, struggling to get her thoughts straight and finding it impossible to find the right words. She felt her hold on Jon becoming weaker. "Jaime promised... I name a son. He promised me. He promised..."

"Get some sleep," Sansa said as she gently took Jon from Lyarra. She pressed a kiss to Lyarra's forehead and gave her sister one last beaming smile. "You deserve it. You did so well, Lyarra. Father would be so proud."

Lyarra nodded and closed her eyes, a smile on her lips. Just before she fell asleep, she heard the maester speak again. "Do you know what Lady Lannister wished to name the child? So I may write to Lord Tywin?"

"She called him Jon," Sansa told the old man. "Jon Lannister."


	13. Traitor's Skin

**Traitor's Skin**

Cersei swilled her glass of wine around without a care in the world. Of course, she had too much on her mind, so much that she had to drink to forget it all. They had been finally gifted with quiet again, now that the Stark bitch's whelp had been born. Two whole days, the little wolf had screamed and yelled and kept them all awake.

Now, Jaime's child-bride had decided to continue her theatrics by having the entire household fussing over her. Cersei didn't have the energy to feel sorry for her, even if she was of an age with Joff and might die of childbed fever, just as Cersei's own mother had. _Good riddance._ The girl's death would be a blessing upon them all. Jaime could find a more suitable bride – or, better yet, remain unwed and in King's Landing with Cersei. After all, he had his heir now. The child was robust and healthy. What use had he for another?

But Cersei was no fool. While Jaime would no doubt be content to stay unmarried, their father would pressure him into marrying again in the name of duty. Though Cersei would prefer if Jaime never married another woman, she had to admit that any other woman would be preferable to Lyarra Stark. _A wolf for a lion,_ Cersei scoffed, _what a trade!_ What a joke, more like. What had Robert been thinking? Such a marriage could never work. Jaime was unhappy with the match, as was his Stark wife. The only person who was happy with the match was Robert. _As always, Robert got what he want_ _ed_ _and we all must suffer for it._

It was in the best interests for her family, most specifically her beloved twin brother, that spurred her to go to Maester Pycelle the evening after Lyarra had birthed the Lannister heir. Jon, she had named it. A northern name for the heir of Casterly Rock, Father would be disgusted no doubt. That was why they had to be rid of her. The girl had traitor blood and was far too wilful. It was in the interests of House Lannister that she succumb to childbed fever. Jaime would be unwed and House Lannister would still be blameless, as surely even a dimwit such as Robb Stark couldn't possibly blame them for his sister's ill-luck in the birthing chamber.

"Maester Pycelle," she greeted the old man pleasantly, giving him her best smile. Of course the old man fell for it. He spun around immediately and stopped what he was doing to greet her. "How is my good-sister faring?"

"Not well at all, I'm afraid," Pycelle lamented, looking mournful. The old maester was no doubt putting on an act. If he did fear for the Stark girl's life, then he was only doing so because he knew Cersei's father might be displeased. "She suffers from a most severe fever and delirium. I've given her some milk of the poppy and other concoctions that are known to eliminate infection. With some treatment, I believe I should be able to bring Lady Lannister back to full health."

Cersei smirked at him and gave a small laugh. "Don't." The look on his face only made her grin larger.

Pycelle's mouth opened considerably as he stammered. "W-What? I don't believe I-"

"I said 'don't'," Cersei repeated, stepping closer to the old maester until she towered over him. She glowered down at Maester Pycelle, seeming as threatening as she could possibly manage. "We have no use for a traitor's daughter in the family. We have an heir. Should we be lucky enough and all Lyarra's brothers die, then Jon Lannister is the heir to the North. We don't need her. So what if she was to succumb to childbed fever during the night? Robb Stark could not possibly condemn us for his sister's death if it was so clearly the will of the gods." Cersei smirked to herself, proud of her vindictive plan.

The maester started stammering again. Cersei rolled her eyes. What was so difficult to understand? "Lord Tywin-"

"Will see that we are better off without the Stark bitch," Cersei snapped. "I'm not asking you to kill the girl. I am asking you to be... more _relaxed_ , in your treatment of her." Seeing that Pycelle was reluctant, Cersei glared at him. "Need I remind you that I am the queen and the mother of your king. If I should will it, I could have your head on a spike for your disobedience. I would hate to doubt where your loyalties lie."

That was enough to frighten the man into doing her bidding. Pycelle swiftly agreed and gave her a low bow before scurrying off to tend to Lyarra Stark. Cersei couldn't help but grin as she returned to her chambers.

"The fever has not yet broken?" Tyrion asked Lyarra's handmaiden just outside her chambers. He was not allowed inside, but he could hear enough to know that his good-sister was very ill.

"No, my lord," the handmaiden – Rhea, he believed her name was – informed him. She was a loyal handmaiden, Tyrion had discovered, as she seemed genuinely distressed by her mistress' condition. Tyrion could admire that. "She's been having strange dreams as well and she's been vomiting. Maester Pycelle says that it is an infection, but..."

"But, what?" Tyrion prompted, sensing the girl's worry and hesitation.

Rhea chewed at her lower lip, as though debating whether to tell Tyrion. She ultimately decided to. "Maester Pycelle was very attentive to her at first. He gave her all these medicines and helped her... vomit. He said she had to get the infection out some way." Tyrion cringed. Nobody would want Pycelle's hands down their throat. "But then he went to fetch something a few hours ago and since then, he hasn't done anything with Lady Lannister. No medicine, no treatment at all actually. He's been idle, watching as she suffers. I would go so far as call him neglectful, my lord."

Tyrion nodded, appreciating the handmaiden's honesty. No doubt Pycelle had been given orders to neglect the Stark girl and allow her to succumb to her illness. The only thing he questioned was if it was Joffrey or Cersei. Both were just as likely. Joffrey because he was a cruel bastard who enjoyed terrorising Stark girls, and Cersei because of her sick jealousy towards Jaime's wife and child. What a pleasure it was to belong to such a great family!

"Thank you," Tyrion said to the handmaiden. "I appreciate your honesty."

"Will you do something for her?" Rhea asked him.

"Yes," he promised, giving her a reassuring smile. "All I can."

For even if Cersei didn't care if Lyarra Stark died, Jaime would surely be displeased at the very least. His brother wasn't cruel, most of the time. In fact, Tyrion sometimes wondered if Jaime had a better heart than even Tyrion had.

As soon as he had finished speaking with Lyarra's handmaiden, he rushed to find Maester Pycelle, flanked by his loyal companion and guard Bronn. The old man sat in the rooms adjacent to Lyarra's chambers, sitting by the window and looking deep in thought. Tyrion had no qualms about interrupting them.

"Maester!" he addressed, getting the man's attention immediately. Maester Pycelle looked rather frightened of him. "It has come to my attention that we now allow young mothers to fall prey to childbed fever. Can you tell me how that came about?"

"I- I," the old maester stammered, rising to his feet, "I don't quite know what you're talking about. If you are accusing me of-"

"Of neglect?" Tyrion finished, stepping closer to the old man. Maester Pycelle glanced worriedly at Bronn. "Of shirking your duties as a maester of the Citadel? Why, yes, I am actually. How do you think my father will react when he learns that his daughter-in-law, the mother of the future heir to Casterly Rock, is being left to fend for herself as she battles childbed fever?" Maester Pycelle muttered a feeble response. "Well? Do you think he will be happy? Do you? I very much doubt it."

"I did no such thing-"

"Oh, don't waste your breath denying it," Tyrion snapped, rolling his eyes as the maester started stammering again. "We both know it to be true. Who was it that encouraged you to treat my sister-in-law so poorly?"

Pycelle shook his head vehemently. "I cannot say. I will not say."

Tyrion clenched his fists tightly by his sides and fought the urge to hit Pycelle. Though he was short in stature, Tyrion could throw a good punch. He resisted the urge and settled with a less violent approach. "No matter. I can guess who it was. Now, you are going to go back into that room and you are going to make sure that Lyarra Stark – or Lannister, whichever you choose – does not die of childbed fever, or I swear to you, whatever my sister or nephew has threatened to do to you will pale in comparison to the punishment I have in mind. Do we understand each other?"

White with either anger or embarrassment, Tyrion could not tell, Pycelle begrudgingly nodded his head. "Yes, my lord. Perfectly." He gave both him and Bronn and shallow bow before going into Lyarra's chambers again.

He turned around to Bronn, who wore a grin on his lips. "For a little man, you're good at scaring old men."

"Young, cruel kings as well," Tyrion replied chirpily as they walked the halls of the Red Keep.

"If I was a young woman, I'd rather die of childbed fever than have that old man touch me," Bronn remarked.

"Hm, an admittedly tough choice," Tyrion mused. "You ought to find a woman who has undergone such torment to get a true answer, I believe."

"You'd ask a lady that?" Bronn asked, disbelieving.

Tyrion smirked at him. "I'd ask a lady anything."

* * *

It was the first time in an entire week that she had ventured out of her bed. It was only by Pycelle's recommendation that she did so. Lyarra would have been more than happy to stay in bed for a few more days. Her body ached, she felt so weak and tired, as though she could just fall over at any moment and, perhaps worst of all, her mind was so preoccupied with traumatic memories of Jon's birth that she could barely converse with the abundance of courtiers that had decided to visit her and the baby. It seemed that as soon as word reached them that Lyarra was out of bed and well enough, almost every courtier – or all the nosy ones, at least – decided to visit her. Lyarra tried to be polite, tried to make good conversation like Mother had taught her, but she was just so tired.

She sat beside Jon's crib. Every so often she would pick him up and hold him. Each time she expected to feel differently. She didn't know what she expected really, perhaps some wave of powerful motherly affection for her _son_. As she looked down at her son, sleeping peacefully in his crib, Lyarra still couldn't believe that he was hers, and not even in a 'too-good-to-be-true' kind of way. She felt detached and indifferent. Motherhood was supposed to be natural, but for Lyarra, it was anything but.

Even so, she had spent the last hour staring at Jon, lost in thought. She had been so excited to meet him, to become a mother. What was wrong with her? _I am the only parent he_ _has_ _until Jaime comes home –_ if _Jaime comes home_ _–_ _and I cannot even love him._ Lyarra choked back a sob. Hearing the guard announce another visitor, Lyarra pushed back the lump in her throat and sat up straight, shifting into a more comfortable position.

"My lady." It was her good-brother, Lord Tyrion. He bowed to her. Lyarra was about to stand up and greet him, but Tyrion raised his hand to her, signalling for her to sit back down. Lyarra was more than happy to oblige. "Please. There is no need. You are recovering well?"

Lyarra nodded. "I am. I have you to thank for that." Tyrion furrowed his brows, confused. Lyarra elaborated. "Rhea told me how Maester Pycelle seemed to have been... encouraged to be neglectful towards me. You intervened on my behalf. I thank you for that." She would be eternally grateful to him. If it wasn't for Lord Tyrion, she might not be alive.

Her brother-in-law offered her a genuine smile. "Any half decent person would have done the same. My sister and nephew, however, are devoid of all decency and empathy." He gave her a meaningful look. Lyarra understood his meaning perfectly. "To ensure your safety and the safety of your son, I would advise you to leave King's Landing as soon as you are able."

"Will he let me?" Lyarra whispered. Cersei and Joffrey despised her, for whatever reason. It seemed to be mainly because of who her father was, but the fact that she was now Lady Lannister seemed to add insult to injury for the king and his mother. "The king..."

"I will handle the king," Tyrion promised. "And if needs be, I will write to my father and have him talk some sense into my sister and her son. No doubt he will be furious when he hears that Joffrey and Cersei summoned you to King's Landing."

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion," she replied, genuinely grateful. She had no desire to stay in King's Landing for longer than she absolutely had to. Everyone was so horribly fake.

Tyrion stepped closer to Jon's crib and smiled fondly at the baby. "He has your hair," he remarked. Hearing Tyrion's voice, Jon's eyes opened ever so slightly and he peered up at his uncle. Tyrion laughed. "And your eyes. But Jaime's grin, I think. He is a wonderful child, truly. You did well." Lyarra gave him a half-hearted smile, unable to manage anything more. Though she was able to marvel at her child – knowing that she had carried another living, human-being in her stomach was an amazing notion – Lyarra had never regarded her baby as wonderful. Tyrion narrowed his eyes at Lyarra, sensing that she was not quite herself. "Are you feeling well, my lady?"

She nodded. "I am recovering quickly. I am still quite weak and tired, but other than that, I hope to return to Casterly Rock within the month."

"While I am glad to hear that," Tyrion began, giving Lyarra a sorry smile, "it was not the kind of wellness I was inquiring about." Confused, Lyarra tilted her head to the side as she tried to understand what he was saying. "You seem dejected, far-away. Forgive me, my lady, but I do wonder if childbirth affected more than just your body."

Hearing those words made her feelings very real to Lyarra. She blinked away tears and looked away, wary of spilling her heart to a Lannister. _But he has always been kind to me. I owe him some semblance of trust, at least._ "I can't..." she trailed off, trying to find the right words. She shook her head. "I'm going to sound like a terrible person."

"I've met my fill of terrible people, and you are not one of them." He smiled encouragingly. "Try me."

Lyarra sighed, her voice breaking as she opened up to her brother-in-law. "I can't seem to find it in me to love him, as a mother should. I've tried. I know I should love my own child, but I just... can't. I thought it would come naturally. But it hasn't. What kind of a monster can't love her own child? Even your sister loves her children, so why can't I?"

The look on Tyrion's face was not judging, but rather sympathetic. "My sister loves her children, yes. She is a woman of questionable morals, yet she loves her children fiercely. But Cersei never went through what you have. I am no expert on motherhood or children, but I am sure that it's normal to feel... indifferent to your son considering the traumatic birth you had to suffer to bring the child into the world. Motherly love might take some time. But be sure of this, how you feel at this moment in time doesn't make you an inferior mother to Cersei."

Nodding, Lyarra looked at her son once again. He was so innocent, so beautiful, so _peaceful_. An easy child to love, yet she could not. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Every time I look at him, I remember how painful it was. I had no idea where I was most of the time. I was terrified."

"It will pass," Tyrion assured her. "I'm sure you're not the first mother to feel like this. Give it time, Lyarra."

 _Why couldn't this be easy?_ She was a mother at six-and-ten, without a husband to help her to raise their child, why couldn't it be simple? Lyarra blinked away her tears again and nodded. Tyrion patted her on the knee, giving her one last small smile before bidding her farewell. Just before he left, he turned around and gave her a large, cheeky grin.

"Oh, I almost forgot to praise you for choosing such a fine name. Very... meaningful."

Lyarra smiled and laughed at him, her first real laugh in a very long time. He inclined his head towards her before spinning on his heel and leaving, whistling to himself as he did.

* * *

For the next two weeks, the frequent visits from courtiers continued. Lyarra was exhausted and found herself barely able to converse with her visitors. Of course, most courtiers were well able to converse with a brick wall, at least Lyarra was able to nod and participate every now and then, though she didn't think they noticed.

It was inevitable – that she knew – but when her guard announced that the queen had come to visit her, Lyarra was startled. She stood up to greet the queen as she strolled into Jon's nursery and curtsied to her.

"You are to be congratulated," Cersei told her, a vibrant smile on her face. All that Lyarra could think about as the queen spoke to her was how the woman in front of her wanted her dead. How she was so willing to have her suffer such pain and confusion before ultimately succumbing to her fever. How could any woman be so cruel? Lyarra pushed back her thoughts and smiled pleasantly at the queen. "You gave my brother a son. House Lannister has an heir. You must be pleased with yourself."

"I am glad to have done my duty," Lyarra replied carefully, having given her choice of words much thought. _Mother would be proud of me._

The queen scoffed and, without invitation, walked towards Jon's crib. Lyarra watched Cersei closely as she picked up Jon, an uneasy feeling in her stomach as the woman who wanted her dead only a fortnight ago held her son. "I never got a good look at him," Cersei remarked, eyeing Jon with something akin to distaste as she scrutinised every feature, every freckle and every part of his little face. "He is all Stark unfortunately. Not a hint of Lannister in him."

Lyarra glared at the queen, perfectly understanding the implication. She would not have Cersei, of all people, questioning her honour. "Someone told me once that when one parent has dark hair and the other is fair, it is far more likely that the children are dark."

Understanding Lyarra's meaning, Cersei scowled at Lyarra and narrowed her eyes at her, suspicion in her green eyes. Lyarra's mother had known. Cersei was unfaithful to the king. Perhaps her children were not the king's as well. Cersei laughed and smiled at Lyarra. "An old-wives' tale. Such things cannot be predicted. They are up to the gods."

Lyarra would not be so daring to directly say it, but if the queen had the gall to imply that Lyarra had been unfaithful, then Lyarra refused to accept such an accusation without some sort of retort. Though she did not believe that the queen was a godly woman by any standard, Lyarra backed down and inclined her head respectfully. "Of course. I just thought it was an interesting piece of trivia to note."

"Not particularly," Cersei deadpanned in response, placing Jon back in his crib. Lyarra exhaled a breath of relief. "You gave him a Stark name. The name suits, of course, given his unfortunate colouring, but you seem to have forgotten that your child is not a Stark, but a _Lannister_. House Stark is currently at war against the crown. They hold your lord husband prisoner. To give your son a name belonging to such a house is treason."

"I gave my son an honourable name," Lyarra defended. "A name that belonged to two brilliant men. I cannot find shame in that."

"Yes, two brilliant men," Cersei mocked, rolling her eyes. "No doubt Jon Arryn is one of them. That man was honourable to a fault. But the other?" Cersei laughed to herself. "Ah, yes. Your _bastard_ brother. What a brilliant man."

"My _brother_ is a good man, as honourable as any," Lyarra corrected sharply.

The queen scoffed again. "Foolish, stubborn child. This silly act of rebellion can be dismissed as a rash decision induced by childbed fever. Change the name before the naming ceremony and this will all be forgotten about."

"I will not change his name," Lyarra firmly stated, clenching her fists by her side and trying her very best to remain calm. "I am going to name my son after a man that is dear to me – _my brother_! I didn't mean for this to be seen as an act of rebellion." Of course, that was a lie. It was an act of rebellion, however small. Joffrey may be cruel, but he could not execute her for naming her child a name that he didn't like. "Jaime and I agreed. He would the baby if it was a girl. I would name a boy. And so I name _my_ son. How is that treason?"

Cersei rolled her eyes and sauntered towards the table that held a pitcher and glasses. She picked up the pitcher and poured out its contents, looking disappointed when water came out. "Water?" Cersei said in disgust. "Sometimes I forget how young you are. For future reference, in the south, good noblewomen drink wine and are expected to have a pitcher of wine at the ready for guests. This is not the North. Nobody wants water." Cersei spilled the goblet's contents on the floor.

"This is a nursery," Lyarra said slowly, aghast.

"The same rule applies," Cersei replied, smirking at Lyarra as she slammed the goblet back onto the table and walked back over to Lyarra slowly. "You believe that he will protect you. That he will take your side against his family when he returns – against _me_."

She went wide-eyed at Cersei's sudden change in demeanour and was lost as to who the queen was speaking about. "Who?"

"Jaime, you little fool," the queen stated aggressively, glowering at Lyarra. "My brother has always been loyal to me. To House Lannister. He was there when my children were born – every one of them, did you know that?"

Lyarra shook her head, ignoring the pit in her stomach that was brought on by jealousy. "No. I didn't."

The queen laughed at Lyarra, cruel mirth in her eyes. "And he couldn't even be bothered to be there for your first-born."

"He went to war," Lyarra explained, again as though the queen was stupid. She couldn't deny that the queen's words had hurt her. _Perhaps he could have waited a few weeks. What were a few weeks, really?_ Lyarra ignored her thoughts as sheer jealousy. A man could not stay home because his wife was with child. Jaime would have been laughed at!

Cersei continued as though Lyarra had not said a word. "I know my brother better than anyone. We shared a womb. We grew up together. He's not made for a quiet life with a naive little northern wife and a half a dozen little brats running about the keep he's forced to run. He resents you already – the _child_ King Robert forced him to marry. That feeling will worsen as time goes on. As marriage wears him down and becomes like a chain."

Tears formed in Lyarra's eyes. She had always found it difficult to control her emotions, now was no exception. She swallowed and forced herself to sound strong at least. "What is he made for, then? Since you know him so well, you must know."

Queen Cersei smirked at her as though she was privy to some brilliant secret. "War," she answered. "Didn't you notice how _excited_ Jaime was to go to war, even if it was against your family?" Cersei laughed to herself. "Or how he didn't care that he would not be with you for the birth of your child – his first-born child with you? Anything that is simple or conventional bores him, and you are as simple and conventional as a young lady can come. He will never love you."

"Perhaps not," Lyarra replied, trying to keep her voice steady. She pushed back her tears and straightened her back. She would not pine for a man who did not love her, nor would she let Cersei see how much her cruel words affected her. "But many men have deprived their wives of love, and those women have not only survived, many of them thrived. Why not me? After all, King Robert never loved you – he _hated_ you – yet here you are. _Thriving_." She smirked at Cersei, revelling in how the queen began to shake with anger.

Lyarra expected the slap, though she had not expected the queen to have so much strength in her. The blow made Lyarra fall to the floor, a cut on her cheek that gushed blood. Lyarra glared up at Cersei as the queen started to shout at her. "I am the mother to the king! You think that because you have given my father an heir you are untouchable, but I am his daughter! I have the king's ear! If I so will it, I could have your head on a pike – right beside your traitor father! You will learn some gratitude, or follow him into the grave!"

"Gratitude?" Lyarra repeated, despite herself. She struggled to get onto her feet again. Usually, Lyarra would know better than to anger the queen, but she had enough of Cersei's taunts, enough of her cruel jests. "What have you done for me? You had me travel to King's Landing – _on horseback –_ during my final month of pregnancy. You forced me to risk my life and the life of my child in order to satisfy your and your son's desire to make a show of me in front of your courtiers. I almost died because of the stress the journey caused me. I almost lost my son! You had Maester Pycelle step back and let me succumb to childbed fever because of whatever petty hatred you have for me. What have I done to earn your ire? Tell me, what have I done to you but marry your brother out of duty?"

The queen's eyes grew cold. "Perhaps that is the problem. You shouldn't have married him. He shouldn't have married anyone." Lyarra did not miss the jealousy in the queen's voice, or how she had to stop herself but she said something potentially damaging. "Your disobedience and your sharp tongue are not welcome in my court. My threats are not mere words. Remember that. Though you seem to not value your life very much, how about your sister's?" As Lyarra's expression quickly morphed into one of fear, Cersei smiled callously. "If you refuse to behave, I'll tell Joffrey that he can do what he wants to your sister. I'm the only thing holding him back from all the... _urgings_ he has for her. I would loath to anger your brother further, but if it meant teaching you gratitude and respect, then I would risk his anger gladly."

She had finally managed to shock Lyarra into silence. Lyarra sat down, staring up at the queen with horror in her eyes. Cersei's smirk grew wider. "Your father could not play the game of thrones. Neither can you. The south is a dangerous place for Starks. What a pity it would be to see another northern head fall because of sheer stupidity." The queen gave Jon one last look of loathing before she turned around and sauntered out of the room.

Lyarra didn't know how long she stayed seated, staring at the wall in front of her with wide, worried eyes. How stupid she had been, arguing with the queen! They could not do anything to Sansa or Lyarra that would get back to Robb, but they could still hurt them in more secretive ways. Lyarra vowed to be more sensible in future.

At least an hour – perhaps two – had passed when Lyarra received another visitor. Lord Baelish stepped inside the nursery with a vibrant smile on his face. "Lady Lannister! Words cannot describe how delighted I am to see you well and rested!" Lyarra made to stand up and greet him, but Baelish held out his hand to signal for her to stay seated. "Please. There is no need. Ah, what a beautiful son you have. Lord Tywin will be delighted."

"I should hope so," Lyarra replied, giving Baelish a weak smile.

"He has the Stark look," Baelish said quietly, staring down at her son with a faraway expression on his face. "But there is something of Ser Jaime in him as well." Lyarra could only offer him another weak smile. Lord Baelish responded with a sad smile of his own and sat down in the seat beside her, a pitiful look on his face. "You look rather startled, my lady. If you'd forgive me for saying so."

Lyarra was tired of lying and beating around the bush. Lord Baelish was a friend of her mother's, surely she could trust him somewhat? "I just had a very odd conversation with the queen," she admitted, keeping her voice low.

"Oh?" Baelish pried, leaning closer to her. "How so?"

"She..." Lyarra searched for the correct words, still quite startled from what the queen had said to her. "She threatened me and Sansa. If I continued to be disobedient, she said she'd let Joffrey do what he wanted with Sansa."

"Nonsense," Baelish replied, rolling his eyes at the queen's antics. "The king is already doing what he wants with Sansa. He cannot do much worse or he will compromise her honour, which he cannot do as it will destroy all possibility of trading Sansa for Ser Jaime. It is an empty threat." She nodded absently, somewhat relieved by what Baelish told her. "That's not all, is it?"

The young Lady Lannister shook her head. "She was being very strange. She... seemed to be bragging about how Jaime was with her for the birth of her three children while he wasn't for the birth of his own child. For my child."

"Well, it is well known that the queen and her brother are... very close," Baelish said carefully, watching Lyarra closely so he could gauge her reaction and see what she knew.

"It wasn't even that," Lyarra replied, shaking her head again. "I know they – they're twins, how could they not be close? But the way she spoke of him..." When she looked at Baelish again, she found him hanging on to her every word, his eyes narrowed with interest. Lyarra sighed. "It sounded like jealousy. As though she was trying to prove something to me – better me, somehow."

"And why would she do that?" Lord Baelish asked, as though he was trying to test her.

Lyarra shrugged. She had no idea why the queen hated her so much, or why she seemed to be in competition with Lyarra. "I don't know. It didn't make any sense to me either. She's his sister. I would understand if it was simply protectiveness, but..."

"It's obviously not," Baelish finished. He smiled at her. "Clever girl." Her mother's childhood friend paused and lowered his voice to a whisper. "What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room, for your sake as much as mine. The Lannisters are dangerous and will no doubt be rid of the both of us if they were to find out I told you. Do you understand this? The risk?"

Confused, Lyarra looked at him oddly, but nodded nonetheless. "I do. I won't tell a soul."

"Many have dismissed it for a mere rumour, started by Stannis Baratheon so he could claim the throne," Baelish explained, smirking to himself. "But I am not one of them. I have been aware for a very long time about the queen and her brother and their... _relationship_."

"Relationship?" Lyarra repeated.

Lord Baelish nodded. "The queen and her brother have been... intimate for quite some times, since their youth, perhaps. Your father found out before he died. That was why Cersei and Joffrey had him executed, to hide the truth. The king and his siblings are not the true heirs to the throne. They're Jaime Lannister's bastards."

It was as though someone had hit her. Immediately, her reaction was to vehemently deny the sheer possibility that Jaime could have... lain with his sister – his _twin_ sister, to make matters worse! She shook her head. "No. It can't be... he-he _wouldn't_!"

"But he would," Petyr corrected her, ignoring her outburst and continuing on. "Your father was reading a most enlightening book before his arrest, detailing the great houses of Westeros and their hereditary traits. In all the instances of a Baratheon and Lannister marriage, the children have inherited black hair and blue eyes from their Baratheon parent. Every one. So why do the queen's children all have blonde hair and green eyes? All you have to do is look at them, really look at them, and you'll see that there is not a trace of their father in them – any of them. And if that is not enough proof, the queen's actions are proof enough themselves. You said it yourself; the queen did not sound like a protective sister when she spoke to you, but a jealous one – a jealous lover."

"You said my father... that he knew," Lyarra prompted, swallowing the lump in her throat. Though she was horrified by the news and a part of her refused to believe such filth, the more she thought of about it the more plausible it became.

"Jon Arryn was the first to find out. After myself and Varys, of course. It was Stannis who brought up his suspicions regarding the king's children. Him and Jon Arryn sought out many of Robert's bastards and found their proof in their appearance. Every one of his bastards had the Baratheon features. Your father continued Jon Arryn's work." Lord Baelish chuckled to himself. "Honourable man, your father – too honourable. He told the queen to flee with her children before he told the king so they could be spared. The queen then had the king's squire, her cousin and lover Lancel Lannister, give Robert too much ale on his hunt. You know the rest."

Indeed she did. Lyarra sat back in her chair, consumed by thought. How she wanted to deny it, to stand by her husband. Yet what Baelish was telling her made sense. It all made sense. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you deserve to know," Baelish answered. "You are married to the Kingslayer and now a member of the Lannister family, but you are a Stark as well. Cat's daughter. I could not allow you to remain ignorant of Ser Jaime's sins. Knowledge is power."

She wished he hadn't told her anything. Lyarra's head was spinning. _How can I get over this? My husband... and his sister?_ She wondered if Jaime had been with Cersei since they married. How humiliating would that be! It was one to thing to have to suffer an unfaithful husband, but a husband shaming his wife by sleeping with his sister was quite another.

Lyarra gulped and turned her attention back to Lord Baelish. "Thank you, Lord Baelish, for enlightening me."

"Any time, my lady," Baelish replied. He leaned into her ear and whispered to her, "You might have given them a male heir, but Lannisters put themselves above anyone else. If they have to have you executed to keep their secret safe, they will. Never doubt that."

"I won't," Lyarra swore, her eyes turning hard. "Never again."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So Lyarra knows the truth about Jaime and Cersei now! Her reaction is going to be very complicated when Jaime returns, but I'm hoping it seems realistic! Next chapter Lyarra returns to Casterly Rock and Robb, Catelyn and Jaime find out she's had a son. Let me know what you think!


	14. Homecoming

**Homecoming**

Lyarra wasted no time in leaving King's Landing. They took their time travelling back to Casterly Rock, as Lyarra was still not fully recovered from childbirth and Jon was still very fragile, being little over than two months. She sat in a carriage with her handmaiden and held her newborn son. Though she still did not feel a connection with him and sometimes just looking at Jon troubled her, Tyrion's words had put her to ease. She no longer hated herself for not falling into the role of a mother immediately. Instead, she merely tried to spend as much time with Jon as possible.

"He is so adorable, my lady," Rhea fussed over Jon, stroking his chubby cheeks with her finger and smiling down at him. Though Jon still struggled to keep his eyes open, he did his best to stare up at Rhea, smiling at her odd faces. Lyarra ignored the pang of jealousy in her stomach. Jon never smiled for her. "Oh, I think he will be very handsome."

"Yes. I do too," Lyarra replied, smiling down at her son. "I only hope that the Stark colouring is the only thing he inherited from my side of the family."

Rhea threw back her head and laughed. "Fie, my lady. Was your aunt not a great beauty? Your uncle Brandon was meant to be very handsome too. And you yourself are nothing to shrug at. I believe the little lord is very blessed to have such pretty parents."

"Aye, the Lannisters may be annoyingly stunning, but with us Starks it seems to be hit and miss. A game of luck." Lyarra laughed to herself. "Let's hope he has inherited Jaime's face. We Starks have long faces." At Rhea's tilted head and incredulous look, Lyarra elaborated, "I was lucky enough to avoid that feature. I favour my mother." She had her mother's look, but with her father's colouring. Even so, Lyarra sometimes saw more of her father in her when she looked in the mirror. It was comforting, knowing that a piece of him still existed inside of her.

"Nevertheless," Rhea replied, smiling fondly at young Jon, "I think it's safe to say that the little lion will have women fighting for his attention when he's older."

"And I will have to fight them all off," Lyarra joked. She grinned at her little boy and, much to her delight, she received a smile back. Lyarra beamed and pressed her lips to his forehead. It was moments like these where she felt like a normal mother, a mother who had no trouble at all loving her children. _It will come with time,_ she promised herself. _Just as Lord Tyrion said._

" _Look, it's the Lady Lannister!"_

Having been lost in thought as she stared down at her young son, Lyarra's trance was interrupted by a woman's yelling. She handed Jon to Rhea and looked outside the carriage window, finding many lowborn men and women lining the streets. They scowled at her, some even shouted profanities. Lyarra saw many gaunt peasants lying on the ground. Some she suspected were dead. She gulped, guilt filling her.

"I buried my baby because of you!" one woman cried. She was covered in dirt and wore ripped clothes. "To pay for your stupid mine!"

"What are they talking about?" Rhea asked Lyarra, trying to soothe Jon as he wailed.

Lyarra pressed her lips together in a thin line and frowned. Tears gathered in her eyes, blurring her vision. She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to keep her voice steady as she replied, "I had to raise taxes to rebuild the mines at Castamere. This is the result, it seems." She turned to look at the villagers, gaunt and dirty and starving. She began to weep. _What would Father think of me? Why did I not think of this? Stupid, stupid girl._

She wept all the way back to Casterly Rock, the sight of starving people – a tragedy she herself had caused – made her feel incomparable guilt. When the carriage stopped outside of Casterly Rock, having climbed up the enormous hill, Lyarra forced herself to wipe her tears away and push back her emotions. She took Jon from Rhea and stepped outside the carriage.

Genna, Peckledon and Maester Creylen greeted her as soon as she entered the keep. Genna immediately fussed over Jon. She took a good look at him and smiled. "He is a Stark, to be true. My niece did not treat you too unkindly, I hope."

She could not help the bitter smile that came upon her lips. "She told Maester Pycelle to stop trying treating my childbed fever."

Jaime's aunt replied with scowl. Lyarra took some joy in the fact that even Cersei's kin disliked her and knew her for the cruel monster she was. "That certainly sounds like Cersei," Genna said. She forced a smile on her face. "But despite her attempts, here you are, as healthy as ever. And with a son! Good gods, it is a fine year for House Lannister!"

 _And what of House Stark?_ She tried to hide the pain she felt at Genna's words. After all, House Lannister was only so victorious because they had put down her maiden house and put a bastard on the throne. _Jaime's son._ The truth was still foreign to her, and painful to think of. She pushed aside those painful thoughts and put a smile on her face. "I have Lord Tyrion to thank for that. He threatened Pycelle."

"Good on him," Genna replied. Lyarra could hear the anger in her voice. "Tywin will not be happy when he hears about how you were treated, rest assured of that. I wrote to him the day you left. I expect a reply from him any day now, and Cersei ought to expect a harsh scolding from her lord father."

That caused Lyarra to smile widely. She moved on to greet the other two members of the household that had come to greet her. Maester Creylen inclined his head towards and smiled down at her son. "My lady. You ought to be congratulated on your son. He is a strong boy, I trust?"

"I think so," Lyarra replied. She laughed. "He has a fine grip."

Maester Creylen laughed with her. Peckledon bowed to her. "Lady Lannister."

"Lord Peckledon," she greeted and inclined her head. "You've kept Casterly Rock well in my absence." In truth, she had no idea how he performed, but if Lord Tywin trusted Peckledon, then who was she to doubt his capabilities?

"I trust you will be satisfied with our work," Peckledon informed. "We have began reparations of the mines in Castamere," he told her. "The master builder estimated that it will take seven years for the mines to become profitable."

"Can we wait that long?" Lyarra asked. The longer it took to repair the mines, the longer the tax rates would remain high. The longer the tax rates remained as they were, the more smallfolk would die – the more deaths she caused.

"With the necessary changes..." Peckledon trailed off, becoming thoughtful, before he gave his answer with a nod. "Yes. I believe so."

Lyarra nodded in agreement. Peckledon knew the finances of the Westerlands better than anyone, perhaps even better than Tywin himself. "There is something else I wish to speak with you about. I want to lower tax rates."

Vehemently, Peckledon shook his head. "My lady, I do not think that is a good idea. Most of our income now comes from taxes..."

"But we can substitute the tax coming from the poor by increasing tax rates for the wealthy. We ought to increase tax rates on merchants and lords who will not be left starving," Lyarra argued. "We travelled through many towns and villages on our way back from King's Landing. The poor are starving. They are dying because of us. We can make up the lost money."

Though reluctant, Peckledon knew that while his role was to advise, if the ruling lord or lady of Casterly Rock decided on something, it was his duty to obey. "Very well, my lady. As you wish. I will send letters to the tax collectors detailing the change. How much do you wish the tax rate to be now?"

"For the poor, ten percent. For the nobles, twenty."

"My lady-"

"No, Lord Peckledon," Lyarra interrupted, raising her palm to stop him from speaking anymore. On this, she could not be swayed. She was determined. "My mind is made up."

She could see the reluctance etched on his face. He scowled and bit his tongue, inclining his head respectfully towards his acting liege lord. "As you wish."

* * *

A few days after her return to Casterly Rock, Lyarra surprised the household of Casterly Rock by overseeing a meeting. Lyarra couldn't for the life for understand why – had she not always been efficient when it came to organising meetings? What was with the sudden change? Now that she was a mother, it seemed as though everyone expected her to crawl into some sort of box. _Or into the nursery, more like._

"My lords," she greeted as the men stood up to greet her and Genna. She noticed Peckledon sharing a meaningful look with the castellan, Ser Willem Lannister, that did not go unnoticed by Lyarra. She narrowed her eyes at them, about to give into her anger, before sense struck her and she merely expressed her rage with a huff. "We have much to discuss."

"Indeed we have," Ser Willem agreed. He shared another look with Peckledon. Lyarra clenched her fists in her skirts, her knuckles going white. "My lady, Lord Peckledon just informed me that you wish to make some... rather drastic actions."

Lyarra raised an eyebrow. "Drastic actions?"

"Increasing the rate of tax on the nobility is cause for outrage amongst the most powerful – perhaps even cause for uprising. My lady, we are at war. We can't afford any kind of dispute at the moment," Ser Willem explained.

"So what do you suggest, ser? Allow the smallfolk to die of hunger so the rich can fill their bellies with the finest fruit from the gods know where? You are right. We are at war. And during war it is both the rich and poor that must bear the weight of taxes, not just the poorest," Lyarra replied, eyes blazing. "And you forget, ser, that the smallfolk can revolt too. Tragedy has often struck those who treated their inferiors badly."

"Is that a threat, Lady Lannister?" The castellan was becoming short with her, his eyes narrowed and his features tight.

She merely smiled at him. "Not at all, my lord. I only wished to provide you with a valuable history lesson. What else is there to discuss?"

"A more personal matter," Peckledon interjected, a grave expression on his face, though when was the steward not serious? He seemed uncertain of what he was above to say. Lyarra braved herself for an enraging conversation. "The rest of the household... by the household, I mean the more senior members, wonder if you ought to take a break from your duties as regent and bond with your newborn son. I mean no disrespect, my lady, but perhaps your nursery duties are more important. After all, it is the future Lord of Casterly Rock you care for."

Not even when Joffrey made her kneel before him did Lyarra Stark experience such rage. Her insides boiled, her nails dug into the palms of her hands as she forced herself to not slap Peckledon for impertinence. _I am a lady, not a wet nurse. The nerve of him!_

She did her best to keep her tone level and spoke to them with ice in her voice that betrayed her anger. "This may come as a surprise to you all, my lords, but I do not spend all my time in the nursery and I am well able to both rule in Lord Tywin's stead and be a mother. If anyone else has anything else to say on the subject, then by all means. Speak up." She waited for a full minute for one of them to dare speak against her. When none of them did, Lyarra continued on. "Shall we continue?"

The meeting only lasted another half an hour before the tension and unresponsiveness from the other lords became too much for Lyarra. As soon as she returned to her chambers, a messenger came from Harrenhal, bearing a letter. _Lord Tywin of House Lannister,_ it read. Curious, Lyarra ripped open the letter and read its contents.

The Old Lion spent most of the letter praising her for having a son, as though that was her only accomplishment. _Is that all I am to these people – just another broodmare?_ She pushed back her thoughts and continued to read the letter, noticing how Tywin spoke very little of her leadership. _Here I am, breaking my back in trying to be a good leader and make sure the Westerlands does not fail while you are gone, and you can only praise me for my womb?!_ It sickened her in truth and made her wonder why she put herself through such stress when she would receive no reward. Then it dawned on her. Perhaps she had become a little too fond of power.

Sighing, Lyarra threw the letter onto the table and sat back in her chair. What kind of a family had she married into? Lord Tywin was cruel and calculating, but efficient and a brilliant leader. For that, Lyarra couldn't help but admire him. Cersei... Lyarra couldn't find anything good about Cersei. _Though she does love her children fiercely._ _There is some redemption in that._ Lyarra blinked away tears, promising herself that she would eventually love Jon as a mother should. It did her no good to loath herself for something she couldn't control, to feel envy towards Cersei for something so small.

Then there was Tyrion, the only normal Lannister in Lyarra's eyes. Though even he had a malicious streak. There was something dark in Tyrion. Even if he had been kind to her, Lyarra was not ignorant to the fact that had she gotten on her bad side, Tyrion would be no less brutally efficient in dealing with her than his lord father.

And Jaime... her lord husband. She could have loved him, had she remained ignorant of his relationship with Cersei. They could have been happy. Everything had changed now, though. When he returned – _if_ he returned – Lyarra knew that things wouldn't be able to go back to how they were before, not when she thought he had done _that_ with his sister. The mere thought made Lyarra shudder involuntarily. _I could forget. I could pretend Lord Baelish never told me anything. Wouldn't we all be the better for it?_ Lyarra was conflicted. She shook her head, pushing away such thoughts, though one still remained. How could she be sure Baelish was telling the truth? Perhaps he was lying... but what did he have to gain?

There was only one way to find out. Lyarra jumped out of her chair and marched down the hall. Without waiting to be announced, Lyarra barged into Genna's chambers. Her husband's aunt looked at her with wide, shocked eyes. "Lyarra? Whatever is the matter?"

"I have to speak with you about something."

"And it could not have waited until morning?" Genna asked tiredly. Her eyes had bags under them.

"No," was all Lyarra said in response. Her voice was steely. Immediately, Genna's attention was grabbed and she was wide away.

The older woman sat down in front of the fire and gestured to the seat in front of her. "Well then. Sit."

Lyarra sat down in front of Genna. _Do I even want to know?_ She asked herself before she spoke. _How can I stand not knowing?_ Her mind was made up. She took in a shaky, deep breath before speaking. "While I was in King's Landing, I heard some rumours."

"That's not surprising, my dear," Genna replied, a small smile on her lips. "They say all sorts of things in King's Landing." Noticing that Lyarra was not sharing in her light humour, Genna's smile was quickly replaced by a frown. "Yet what you heard seems to have troubled you."

"It has," Lyarra admitted. She licked her lips and decided it was best to spit it out. "Are Jaime and Cersei... together?"

"How do you mean?" The look on Genna's face, the look of fear and understanding, was almost enough of an answer for Lyarra. Almost.

She sighed. "Is Jaime in love with his sister? And is Cersei in love with him? Did he father her children? Did he lay with her while he was married to me? Did he-"

"That is quite enough. Lower your voice, child," Genna chastised. Lyarra was not deterred in the slightest. Genna sighed and answered her questions. "Do you want the truth?"

"Of course I want the truth-"

"You think that now," Genna said, "but then you'll hear the truth and plead for blissful ignorance."

"I have to know," Lyarra insisted, her voice strong and steady as she looked Aunt Genna dead in the eye, with such determination that she looked ten years older.

Taken aback, Genna forced herself to look composed as she breathed in deeply, about to speak of things best left unspoken. "I'm only telling you this because you have a right to know." Lyarra nodded solemnly in response. Genna sighed. "Very well. Jaime and Cersei... have always been close. When they were children, they had to be moved to separate sides of the castle by their mother because she found them behaving... inappropriately with each other. I have reason to believe now that behaviour never did stop, despite Joanna's best efforts."

"So you didn't know that the royal children were Jaime's?" Lyarra asked, hoping that the older woman would say that she did not. Genna had been her only friend in Casterly Rock for so long, she couldn't bear the thought of Genna keeping secrets from her.

Genna tilted her head to the side, humming in thought. "I had my suspicions. But you know how it is. We like to believe the best in people until we're slapped with the truth." She gave a sorry smile and patted Lyarra's hand, noticing her niece's downtrodden face. "I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but I could not lie to you."

"I'm glad you didn't," Lyarra replied, pushing back the lump in her throat.

She gave Lyarra a pitiful look. Lyarra didn't want her pity. _I want a simple life. That's all. With a husband who may or may not love me, so long as he's not in love with his sister._ Was that so much to ask? "You know the truth now," Genna said, eyes narrowed at Lyarra. "What will you do with it?"

"What can I do with it?" Lyarra questioned. "I won't tell anyone – have no fear of that, lest I rob my son of a father and perhaps a mother too, for surely Joffrey would have me beheaded if I was to even utter that he was illegitimate." Lyarra scoffed. "I won't be doing anything."

"Hm," Genna said thoughtfully. Her eyes were still narrowed into slits as she observed Lyarra closely.

When she said nothing more, Lyarra stood up and gave Genna a shallow curtsy. "Thank you, Genna." The older woman gave her a short nod. Lyarra raced out of her room and into her own, her mind whirling with thoughts.

Genna was right. Lyarra wished she had never listened to Lord Baelish. She wished that she could have been more stubborn in her denial of Jaime's sins. She wished that she could forget what Baelish and Genna told her of Jaime. Now her marriage was ruined. Her future was ruined. How could any woman, even the Mother herself, get over such a slight?

* * *

When a rider came during the night and announced he was King Joffrey's messenger, Robb feared the worst. He immediately thought of his sisters. Had Joffrey thought to punish him by killing his sisters? Had he maimed them? Had he written to describe how they died or how he hurt them? His head was filled with horrible thoughts as he ripped open the letter, leaving its seal in tatters. He barely acknowledged his mother as she hounded him for information.

 _Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell,_

 _It pleases me to inform you that your sister, the Lady Lannister, has given birth to a son after a long and painful birth. This has inspired me to once again reach out to you in the hope that you will put aside your stubbornness and swear fealty to me, your rightful king, in the name of kinship. Until you do so, no member of House Stark will have contact with Lady Lannister or her son._

 _Our houses will be joined again by my marriage to your sister, Lady Sansa. Until you bend the knee, she will remain our guest and will have no contact with you. Rest assured, we are treating her with every respect that is due to your sister._

 _Joffrey of House Baratheon, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men._

By the time he finished reading the letter, Robb's heart was pounding violently in his chest as his eyes only saw read. He crumbled the letter and tossed it to the floor. His mother had read the letter over his shoulder so she had no need of it either. Blinded by rage, Robb punched the wall with his hand and let out an angry grunt, at both the pain and his own frustration.

"She's given them a son," he growled as his mother sat down, her thoughts far away from him and his rants. "Whatever hope we had of getting her back is lost. They'll never let her go now."

His mother sighed and looked up at him hopelessly. Robb forgot his anger for a moment and felt only pity. She had lost two sons and now Lyarra too... it would be enough to break a lesser woman. Though they had fought much over his marriage to Jeyne, Robb found that all his anger towards her was forgotten as he looked at her. She was helpless and lost, her face was hollow and pale, her eyes tired. He couldn't find it in him to be mad.

"Be that as it may," his mother said, her voice broken, "if you were to sew for peace-"

"Never," he growled. His mother may be grieving and her grief may be the cause of her rashness, but Robb would not entertain such a ridiculous and damning notion such as _peace_. "This war will not end until the North is independent and I have Joffrey's head as a trophy."

"But if you were to negotiate with them," Lady Stark insisted. "Then perhaps we would get to see Lyarra again. Even just to see her and the child." Robb glared at her. "My grandson, Robb! Your nephew! You have no desire to know your own kin?"

"Of course I do, Mother!" Robb exclaimed, his voice raising involuntarily. "But he is a _Lannister_. He's the Kingslayer's son as well as Lya's."

"So then what?" his mother snapped, standing to her full height. She was much more intimidating now, glowering at him with such determination in her eyes Robb almost cowered. "What is your plan, Robb? How are we going to get her back?"

Robb scoffed and shook his head, smiling wryly. "Don't you see? We're not getting her back, Mother. She is theirs now. She would never leave her son," Robb replied. He stopped when he noticed the tears welling in his mother's eyes. Robb's vision blurred with tears as well, all anger leaving him. He swallowed his feelings. "I know it is difficult to accept. I want her back too, Mother. Believe me. She is my twin. We came into the world together. The thought of never seeing her again..." He felt a lump forming in his throat but pushed it down as soon as it came. "But that is war. I will not bend the knee to my father's murderer."

Catelyn sighed, her shoulders slumping as she gave into him. She smiled sadly at her son and cupped his face in her hands. "And I cannot fault you for that. Gods help me, I think I would beat you if you suggested such a thing."

Despite himself, Robb laughed, knowing that she was not lying. He perked up as an idea entered his head. "If I win the war and kill Tywin, then Lyarra's son could be installed as the Lord of Casterly Rock."

"And Ser Jaime?" his mother asked.

Robb thought about a that for moment. "Well, he would have to die as well," was his answer. "I don't think Lya was very fond of him anyway. We will get them back, Mother. All my sisters. We will see them all again."

His mother chuckled and caressed his face again. "I wish I could have your certainty, my son," she said. "Yet I find myself thinking the worst. My boys are dead. My girls in the clutches of the Lannisters. You and I are all that remains."

He pressed a kiss to his mother's forehead. "We will get the girls back and we will see Lya again. I swear it." He expected his mother to chide him on making promises he wasn't sure he could keep, but she said nothing. He stayed with her for a little while until sleep took her. Quietly, he left her tent and crossed his camp. The men bowed as he passed them, but Robb barely noticed. He only had one thing on his mind. Though he was a prisoner, the Kingslayer deserved to know of his child.

Shackled and chained, the Kingslayer looked nothing like the handsome man who had wed his sister and had threatened him in the tiltyard. Now, he looked more like a caged lion. Robb would have laughed at the pitiful sight had it not been for the rage within him. His sister – wed to this despicable man. His sister – having to bear his child. Had the Kingslayer not been a valuable hostage, Robb would have beaten him, honour be damned.

"Ah, the King in the North! Come to visit me again, I see! That's twice in one week. You are growing fond of me, I think," Jaime Lannister's drawl didn't help the situation either, yet Robb managed to restrain himself.

"You have a son, Kingslayer," he announced, wasting no time. He wanted to get this painful exchange over this as quickly as possible. He couldn't hide the venom in his voice. "Your bastard son just sent me a letter."

The Kingslayer ignored Robb's hostility as his face broke out in a massive grin. He looked genuinely pleased – and proud, too. "A son," he repeated, joy evident in his tone. "What has she named him?"

"Joffrey didn't say," Robb almost growled.

"Ah, so we are truly kin now, Stark." Robb scowled at the Kingslayer, his eyes narrowed viciously at the older man. "What, does the thought still repulse you? You can be as disgusted as you want, the fact still remains. Your sister has birthed my child, and your nephew. What an odd dynamic we have. My father is at war with you, yet he is the grandfather of your sister's... son? Yes, yes, that's right." He seemed to be working it out as he went along. The Kingslayer smiled, happy with himself. "We ought to have a celebration! Would you care to release me from my chains, just for one night? It is a rather special night, you know. It is not everyday a man becomes a father."

"Though such a day comes more often for you, it seems," Robb growled at him, like a true wolf. "You repulse me, Kingslayer. The very thought of you fathering a child on my sister repulses me. The fact that you lay with your own sister repulses me. You fathered children on her and passed them off the king. Your lack of honour repulses me."

The grin had fallen from the Kingslayer's face as Robb ranted. Robb was delighted to have had an affect on the uncaring Kingslayer. "You may stop now, if you wish. I get the point."

"Does she know?" Robb asked suddenly. He had wanted to know for quite some time. He couldn't imagine Lyarra forgiving Jaime for committing incest, yet in all of her letters before the war began Lyarra spoke fondly of Jaime.

Jaime was bewildered. "Does who know?"

"My sister," Robb replied impatiently. "Does Lyarra know that you fathered your sister's children?"

Robb's words managed to bother him again. A genuine look of guilt crossed the Kingslayer's face as silence loomed over them. After a few moments, Jaime gave a firm response. "No," he said.

"You never told her."

"The topic never came up in conversation, no."

"Be serious, Kingslayer. For once in your life," Robb chided. He had no time for games. All he wanted was to return to Jeyne and sleep in her arms. His Jeyne made everything better.

"What do you want me to say?" the Kingslayer snapped at him. "Do you honestly think that I would risk Cersei's life and her children's by telling my wife of, what, eight months, that they were mine? She would have went running off to the king and our heads would all be on spikes."

"At least you would not have dishonoured her," Robb snapped back, just as angry. "At least there would not be a bastard on the throne."

The Kingslayer laughed humourlessly. "You Starks and your honour," he mocked. "I did not tell Lyarra because I did not want my sister and her children to die because I wished to cling on to what little honour I had left."

"You had no honour," Robb responded. The more Jaime mocked him, the angrier he became. He never performed well while angry, unlike the Kingslayer who seemed to become more calculating. "Whatever about killing your king, sleeping with your sister and lying about the parentage of her children surely stained what little honour you had left."

He laughed again with just as little humour. "You are doing a brilliant job of congratulating a new father. I had expected more cheer."

"For what?" Robb asked with a humourless laugh of his own. "Any man can father a child. The question is, will you ever see him?"

His face drained of all colour, though a glare still came upon his face. "You won't kill me, Stark. I am too valuable to you. If you killed me, your sisters would lose their heads. Lyarra may be safe, but the other two are most certainly not."

Robb smirked at the chained kingslayer and said before leaving the Kingslayer alone in his cell once more, "I don't have to kill you."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I was blown away by the amount of reviews last chapter so thank you all for taking the time to review! Some of you were wondering why Sansa didn't visit Lyarra after she gave birth- Sansa was only allowed to be with Lyarra during the birth because of Tyrion's intervention. Joffrey and Cersei are determined to keep them apart because they're both traitors and they think they're going to plot against the crown if they're together, even Tyrion would be suspicious. I just thought it was important to address that because it was a good point and I didn't want anyone to think it was a plothole. I probably should have mentioned it somewhere, but oh well! Anyway, the next chapter should be up within the next week or two!


	15. Lapse in Judgement

**Lapse in Judgement**

As soon as Lyarra finished nursing her son, Jon nearly jumped out of arms. Chuckling to herself, she set him on the floor and let him crawl about the nursery. She tucked her breast back into her dress and watched her son as he raced around the room, putting anything he could find into his mouth.

"Look at him go," Lyarra remarked fondly to Rhea, who shared in Lyarra's adoration and smiled at the young babe.

"There's nothing wrong with those legs. I'm telling you, he'll be walking before the year's end," Rhea replied with equal fondness. Lyarra's handmaiden fussed over Jon as though she was his aunt. Although Lyarra was glad someone else was taking an interest in her son, she often found herself becoming jealous of Rhea's relationship with Jon. Rhea was a natural with him and Jon smiled more freely for Rhea. Lyarra breathed deeply. It did her no good to allow jealousy to overcome her senses.

Lyarra said no more to Rhea after that. The air became tense and her handmaiden became confused. Lyarra was thankful when a guard entered the nursery and announced that Genna wished to see her. She picked up Jon and rested him on her lap as Genna joined them.

"Lyarra," she greeted with a stern nod.

She was taken aback by Genna's formality. "Aunt Genna," she replied, confused. "Is something the matter?"

"Lord Serrett has passed away in his sleep," Genna told her.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Was he a friend of yours?" Lyarra asked. From what she could recall, Genna had never mentioned Lord Serrett. Lyarra had heard from the maids that he was senile and delirious because of his old age, but other than that, Lyarra knew nothing of him.

"Not quite," Genna replied, trying to avoid falling over Jon's many toys as she made her way across the nursery. She sat down in the seat next to Lyarra. "I recall playing with him once or twice as children. I hadn't seen him in years." She went silent for a few moments before letting out a sigh. "It is not his death that troubles me, Lyarra. It is who succeeds him now that he is dead."

"He was Lord of Silverhill," Lyarra said, eyes narrowed in concentration as she tried to remember.

Genna nodded. "Yes. And the man was fool enough to leave no sons – no legitimate ones at least. Though the poor man lost his senses a decade ago, he could have at least fathered one. He had a young and pretty wife who only managed to give him a daughter, and now you and I must sort out the mess this lack of foresight caused."

"Aunt Genna, the man was senile," Lyarra reminded her, a small smile on her face at the old woman's antics.

"That he was, but his wife was not. There is a rumour that daughter of hers is not Lord Serrett's." Genna gave Lyarra a meaningful look. "Well, it's not a rumour really, but a fact. One look at the girl and it's obvious that she is not a Serrett. She has blonde hair and green eyes, not the brown hair and brown eyes that is typical of a Serrett."

"Blonde hair and green eyes," Lyarra repeated. "Are they not Lannister traits?"

"Oh yes," Genna said, waving her hand dismissively. "There is another rumour that says my cousin Ser Lucion Lannister is the girl's true father." She tilted her head to the side, thoughtful. "Well, again, that is more of a fact than a rumour."

"So the girl is most definitely a bastard?"

"Most definitely," Genna replied with a firm nod. Lyarra sighed and leaned back in the chair as Jon tried to put his wooden figure of a knight into his mouth. She took the knight from him but, seeing he was about to cry, gave it back to him with a stern warning. "Nevertheless, the girl's mother is a Lefford and we cannot risk angering House Lefford any further."

"But she is a bastard. She has no right," Lyarra argued.

"Oh, my dear, I thought you might have learned by now. You cannot mix northern honour with southern politics without getting a knife in the stomach," Genna warned. "House Lefford is one of the richest, most powerful houses in the Westerlands and you have angered their liege lord more than once. Who cares if the girl has no right? If it will appease Lord Lefford, then so be it. Of course, the Crakehalls might be upset, but they are far more reasonable to deal with with than Lefford."

"The Crakehalls? Why would they be upset?"

"Lord Serrett's sister Serenna is married to Lord Crakehall. Her son has asserted his claim to Silverhill as well," Genna explained. "But as I said, the Crakehalls will be easily appeased with a few knighthoods and some gold."

"And Lord Serrett's illegitimate son? Is he a threat if we overlook his claim?" Lyarra asked, becoming frustrated with the entire situation. It seemed as though no matter who became Lord of Silverhill, she was going to anger one powerful house or the other.

"No," Genna answered after a few moments of thought. "He is my cousin Jeyne's bastard, did you know that?" Lyarra shook her head. "I wouldn't have expected you to. She's a distant cousin of mine and of little significance, but her son Damon is well-liked by the rest of House Lannister."

"So they will be angry?"

"You have nothing to fear from House Lannister. No one would dare rise up against us while Tywin draws breath." Lyarra found Genna's statement ironic. _Nothing to fear from House Lannister._ Was House Lannister not the very house that destroyed her own? That would have destroyed her had she not been wed to Jaime and the mother of their heir? She shook her head and tried to focus on what Genna was saying. "You will listen to the petitions of the three claimants and then you will decide who becomes Lord of Silverhill, and you will choose Lady Marla Serrett, are we clear?" Lyarra hesitated, chewing at her lower lip. "Lyarra, this is not up for discussion. You will name Lady Marla as the rightful Lady of Silverhill."

"Very well," Lyarra replied and rose to her feet, positioning Jon on her hip. "When will I hear the petitions?"

"Tomorrow morning," Genna answered, standing up as well to match Lyarra's height. Genna was much taller than Lyarra, intimidatingly so.

Lyarra looked up at her with steely eyes. "I have to put Jon down for his nap now. If you wouldn't mind." She inclined her head respectfully, hiding the anger on her face. _These southerners have no respect for honour or justice. If my father was here..._ If her father was here, he would do the right thing and name Lord Crakehall to his uncle's seat, or perhaps Damon Hill, if the king could be convinced to legitimise him. _And then what would happen? The southern lords would turn against him._

Huffing, Genna replied coolly, "Very well. Goodnight, Lyarra. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

She didn't bother replying and instead brought Jon to his crib, not even looking back when she heard the door closing. She tucked him in and pulled the blankets over his little body before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Goodnight, my love," she said to him, giving him a loving smile that he returned.

She blew out the candle and went to her own room. That night, sleep neglected to take her.

* * *

Lyarra's ears were deafened by the loud chattering of lords and ladies in the Great Hall. The noblemen present were men who were unable to fight in the war, so land disputes were the extent of their excitement. Of course, their wives loved any kind of drama and excitement and so thrived on the drama this dispute brought. Lyarra stared ahead at a particular area on the wall just below the ceiling, lost in thought. Her thoughts were interrupted by the herald announcing the three claimants.

Tybolt Crakehall was the first to enter. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and large, muscular arms. He had returned from the war to assert his claim to Silverhill. _This man has probably killed countless Stark soldiers, countless of my brother's men. Perhaps he has wounded some of my childhood friends. Perhaps he has wounded by brother._ Lyarra pushed back those thoughts. She could not let her loyalties to her family get in the way of duty.

Young Marla Serrett followed close behind Lord Tybolt. She was a pretty girl with typical Lannister looks. Genna was right. She was most undoubtedly a Lannister bastard. Lyarra frowned as she watched the young girl. Had she not looked so like a Lannister, Lyarra could have made herself forget that Marla Serrett was illegitimate. That was much more difficult now that proof of Marla's illegitimacy was staring right back at her with pleading green eyes.

The final claimant sauntered into the Great Hall with such confidence and sureness that Lyarra almost fawned – a lie, Lyarra _did_ fawn. To say that Damon Hill was handsome was an understatement. He had bright green eyes and silky, black hair. His face was framed with a strong jaw and high cheekbones and his body was toned and muscular. Instead of glaring at Lyarra or looking at her desperately, Damon Hill smirked as though he hadn't a care in the world. Lyarra crossed her legs and tried to look indifferent, even though her heart beat went faster at the mere sight of him.

 _Good gods, Lyarra. Get a grip! You're married. He's a bastard. What's wrong with me?_

Lyarra cleared her throat before addressing the three claimants to Silverhill. "My lords," she greeted before turning to Marla Serrett, "my lady," she gave the shaking child a kind smile that seemed to calm her a little. "We have come here today to discuss the succession of Silverhill. All three of you have asserted your claim to the title."

"Yes, my lady," Tybolt Crakehall spoke first. "Silverhill is mine by right. A nephew comes before a bastard, especially one who doesn't even share the blood of the house she claims to belong to."

"Fie!" Lyarra heard a woman shout. A handsome woman with long, brown hair and pale blue eyes began to walk towards the head table. "My daughter is the only trueborn child of Willam Serrett and I will not allow her claim to be overlooked!"

 _Lady Jocelyn Lefford,_ Lyarra surmised. She shared her brother's anger, that much was for sure, and his self-righteousness.

"One need only look at her to know that she is not my uncle's daughter," Tybolt replied with a mocking laugh. "If not, then I ask you, _aunt_ , why does my 'cousin' have blonde hair when both you and Lord Serrett have brown hair? And why are her eyes the green of House Lannister if she is truly my uncle's child?"

Lady Jocelyn was at a loss for a reply. She stuttered her response. "It surprised me as well, to be true, but the gods work in mysterious ways and saw it fit to give her golden hair and green eyes."

Crakehall scoffed. "Lies! My lady, you cannot truly believe this nonsense? The girl is a bastard and her mother is a whore. Let's be done with this. I am the rightful heir." His words caused a stir in the Great Hall as Lady Jocelyn's supporters shouted profanities.

"Enough," Lyarra commanded, giving them both a steely look. She turned her attention the handsome bastard who had barely spoken a word. "Ser Damon, you've hardly spoken at all. Why do you consider yourself the rightful Lord of Silverhill?"

"There is no rightful Lord of Silverhill, my lady," he replied, an easy smirk on his lips. "The rightful lord is who you consider him to be. I, however, am a humble claimant to my father's seat. If you should will it, I would gladly serve you as the Lord of Silverhill."

Before Lyarra could respond, Lady Jocelyn had began to yell at her late husband's bastard. "You lecherous bastard!" She lunged at Ser Damon, fury in her eyes, while her husband's bastard laughed to himself and barely tried to push her away. Tybolt Crakehall was the one who pulled Lady Jocelyn from her stepson before she could scratch his eyes out.

Lyarra observed the young man keenly, almost envying him. Neglecting to have a care in the world and the freedom that came with it was an attractive trait. Ser Damon Hill had a pull, an effortless charm, and Lyarra felt herself drawn to him. She pulled herself out of the trance that had overcome her and focused on the proceedings once again.

"Lady Jocelyn, you are aware of the significant... _evidence_ staked against you and your daughter's legitimacy," Lyarra said carefully, taking a few moments to choose the right words. She spotted Lord Lefford among the lords who had come to Casterly Rock to watch the dispute. His eyes were narrowed and held a fire in them. Lyarra refused to be bullied into naming a bastard girl the Lady of Silverhill.

"Evidence? What evidence? The colour of her hair means nothing!"

"It means a lot, mind you," Lyarra replied calmly. "Your daughter has blonde hair while both you and Lord Lefford have brown hair, as Lord Crakehall pointed out. That means that Lady Marla must have gotten her blonde hair from another parent – a parent that was not Lord Lefford." Lyarra paused, giving Lady Jocelyn the chance to speak, but the woman did not take it. Lyarra sighed. "I will not force you into declaring that your daughter is illegitimate, but Lady Marla must renounce her claim to Silverhill. That is all I ask."

"You are asking my daughter to renounce her birthright? To give up what is hers by right?" Lady Jocelyn exclaimed. "You dare accuse me of adultery before my friends and family? Lies, all lies! I demand to correspond with Lord Tywin. He will grant me justice."

"That he will," Lyarra responded. She could almost feel the tension radiating from Genna without even looking at her. _I am doing the right thing. I may suffer for it, but isn't doing the right thing always worth it in the end?_ "He will see that justice is granted to you. He will see you punished for your infidelity. I, however, am willing to let you walk out of this keep without punishment and live with your brother in peace. Do you still wish to correspond with Lord Tywin?"

Lady Jocelyn glared at her with such rage that Lyarra almost cowered. She raised her chin and held her gaze, unyielding. It was Marla Serrett who dared to interrupt their tense staring match. She tugged on her mother's dress and whispered to her, loud enough for Lyarra to hear. "It's alright, Mother. I don't want to be Lady of Silverhill anyway. Please, Mother. I just want to leave."

Reluctant to be the one to look away, Lady Jocelyn took a few moments to acknowledge her daughter. She finally did and looked down young Marla with the loving eyes of a mother, one not tainted by ambition. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though Jocelyn Serrett cared about what her daughter wanted. That illusion was ruined when Lady Jocelyn looked at Lyarra again and glared with just as much anger and ferocity as she had before.

"I would rather be stoned through the streets of Lannisport before allowing my daughter to forsake her claim," Lady Jocelyn declared. "And I would rather die than take orders from a _Stark_." She spat at the floor near Lyarra's feet. Lyarra flinched. Lady Jocelyn grabbed her daughter's hand and stormed out of the hall, her brother following behind her.

 _Then die you shall,_ Lyarra thought darkly. Filled with rage and determined to not allow herself to be humiliated, she was about to rise to her feet and order for Lady Jocelyn to be seized. Genna placed her hand on top of Lyarra and gently shook her head.

"She just humiliated me in front of the most important people in Casterly Rock," Lyarra whispered hotly, eyes blazing with rage.

"You humiliated her. You questioned the legitimacy of her child. Can you blame her?" Genna asked. Lyarra pressed her lips together and stayed silent. "You've made your bed. You've anger the second most powerful house in the Westerlands. Now, you're left with two choices. For goodness sake, Lyarra, choose the right one."

The right one. Lyarra imagined their ideas of the right choice were very different. Genna no doubt meant Tybolt Crakehall, for he was the heir to Crakehall's lands. Ser Damon Hill was a bastard. He had no army. He had no lands. All he had was a weak claim, some promise and a lot of charisma. Lyarra thought he would make a good ruler.

"My lords," she spoke again. The loud chatter died down as she raised her voice. "I have made my decision. You both would make fine lords of Silverhill. You are both honourable and dutiful men, but I must choose the one whose claim is strongest. It is for this reason that I name Ser Damon Hill the Lord of Silverhill because of his close blood relation to Lord Serrett." Chatter broke out among the nobles once again. Lyarra raised her voice. "I will write to King Joffrey to request he legitimise you so your claim to Silverhill can be unquestionable."

"I thank you, my lady." Ser Damon kneeled before her, the smirk on his face was replaced by a look of seriousness that seemed foreign to the young man's face. "I swear to you, you will not regret it. I will do all I can to serve Lord Tywin well."

"Unquestionable." Lord Crakehall scoffed. He wore an expression of sincerest rage. "Unquestionable? He is a bastard! A bastard – to have a stronger claim than a nephew? My lady, I believe you ought to educate yourself on the laws of succession!"

"I know the laws of succession well, my lord," Lyarra replied. "And illegitimate sons are often legitimised so they may become their father's heirs. Ser Damon has proved himself a worthy successor. He knows his father's lands well. The people of Silverhill know him well, while you will be a stranger. I bid you to accept my decision, Lord Tybolt."

Lord Tybolt huffed once more before he shook his head and stormed out of the Great Hall. Still on his knees, Ser Damon Hill looked up at Lyarra with shining green eyes. "You have honoured me, my lady, beyond words."

"You promised to serve Lord Tywin well," Lyarra replied, giving the young knight a smile. "I ask you only to keep your promise."

Ser Damon smiled back. "I will. You have my word."

* * *

"You managed to anger two of the Westerlands most powerful houses before supper." Genna let out a loud, sarcastic laugh as she paced up and down Lyarra's chambers. Lyarra dared not look at her. "You never cease to surprise me, Lyarra. And here I thought you were more intelligent than your lord father."

"My father was intelligent," Lyarra retorted. "And a good ruler. It was southern politics that made a fool out of him."

"As it is making a fool out of you." Genna shook her head ruefully, a sour look on her face. "I made a terrible mistake. You are too young. Your father ruined you with those silly honourable ideas. I had no hope of correcting them. What were you thinking? How are you planning to appease the two houses you just slighted?"

"I don't know," Lyarra admitted quietly, staring at her hands. "I wasn't thinking. All I could think about was how Marla Serrett looked nothing like her father."

"That, you can attempt to justify. But why on earth did you name a bastard the rightful Lord of Silverhill before his legitimate cousin? What's your logic there?"

"Bastards can be legitimised," Lyarra explained. Genna huffed and rolled her eyes, irritated at her good-niece's naivety. Lyarra raised her voice out of frustration. "No, listen to me. Ser Damon lived among the people of Silverhill. He knows the people, the lands, the economy. Tybolt Crakehall was raised to be the heir to Crakehall. He hasn't even set foot in Silverhill as far as we know. Why should he be its leader?"

"Because his father has an army!" Genna exclaimed, losing her temper. "Because his father is rich! Because it's better to upset a bastard with no land, no titles, _with nothing_ than the bloody heir to Crakehall!"

Finally, it dawned on Lyarra that she had made a terrible mistake. They were at war. Even if she wanted the Starks to win, she had to seem unbiased. What if Tywin thought she was trying to sabotage the Lannisters? She buried her face in her hands. "Fuck."

"Yes," Genna replied mockingly, " _fuck_."

"I wasn't thinking. I didn't think-"

Genna sighed and walked over to where Lyarra was sitting, taking a seat next to her. "The problem is that you were thinking. You were thinking like a Stark, a northerner, like Ned Stark's daughter. You cannot be Ned Stark's daughter, Lyarra, not anymore."

Lyarra's eyes became glassy. "Then who am I?"

She placed a hand on Lyarra's and gave it a small squeeze, a sad smile on her lips. " _A Lannister_."

Unsure of how to respond to that – her initial reaction was disgust and anger – Lyarra pursed her lips together and stayed silent. Eventually, Genna stood and bid her niece goodnight, leaving Lyarra alone to her thoughts. In the room next to hers, she could hear Jon's light snoring. But other than that, she was left to the sound of her own deafening thoughts until she heard a knock on the door.

She stood up and walked over to the door. When she opened it, she saw Ser Damon Hill standing on the other side. Her lips parted in slight shock, but mostly at the odd sensation she felt in her lower stomach. She faintly recognised the feeling. It was desire.

"You have no guards at your door."

"No," Lyarra replied. "Casterly Rock is well protected and I enjoy my privacy."

"You shouldn't be without protection during times of war," Ser Damon said, his voice low and husky as his glazed eyes bore into hers. "It's rather dangerous."

"What are you doing here?" Lyarra asked him, gaze not moving from his.

"Do you want me to leave?"

 _Yes. I should say yes. A good woman would say yes._ Yet Lyarra found herself shaking her head. "No."

Ser Damon smirked and stepped closer, so close that their bodies were pressing against each other, so close that she could feel his breath on her forehead. She should have pushed him away. She should have reminded him that she was a married woman. She should have reminded herself of the consequences.

She did none of those things.

"May I come in?"

Despite her senses, despite her mind screaming _'no, you stupid girl,'_ she nodded her head and stepped aside, allowing him into her room. As soon as she shut the door, Ser Damon slid his hands around her waist and pressed her body close to his. His lips brushed against hers, his breath hot against her lips. She shut her eyes and allowed him to kiss her, allowed him to tangle his hand in her hair, allowed him to deepen the kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and led him to the bed, her desire and lust blinded her to the consequences of her actions. Ser Damon was a handsome young man and she was lonely, _so lonely_. After all, Jaime had his sister. Jaime loved his sister. Did she not deserve some kind of solace as well? Some sort of happiness?

"My husband..." she said in between kisses, breathless from desire. "My husband will kill you if he found out."

"Then I will die a happy man," Ser Damon responded, making Lyarra giggle against his lips. _You reckless, reckless man._ Though she had always considered herself to be sensible, she found herself thrilled by this carefree, reckless man that had strolled into her bedroom without a care in the world. His nonchalance aroused her.

As they made their way to the bed, Lyarra and Ser Damon began removing articles of their clothing. Her cloak was the first to go, and then her dress, and then her smallclothes... Before long, she was left naked beneath the eyes of a man that was not her husband. She sat down on the bed, Ser Damon looming over her. He took a minute to take her in, eyeing her body with lust in his eyes, before kissing her again. He grabbed her hands and pressed her against the bed, climbing on top of her. He touched the area between her legs with his fingers, rubbing the sensitive nub that always made her moan with pleasure whenever Jaime touched her there. Now another man stood in his place and Lyarra found it just as pleasurable.

Ser Damon chuckled. "You are beautiful even when you're a moaning mess."

Lyarra laughed and cupped his face again, bringing his lips down to meet hers. Ser Damon removed his fingers from her cunt and held his cock in his hands, preparing to insert it inside of her. Lyarra moaned in anticipation and spread her legs wider before a loud cry stopped Lyarra's lust-filled lapse in judgement.

She gently pushed Ser Damon away from her and sat at the edge of her bed, panting. Ser Damon stepped back, running his fingers through his hair as he searched for something to stay. Lyarra noticed that his cock was still rock-hard.

Licking her lips, she too struggled to find something to say. "I can't... I'm sorry. If anyone was to find out, I would be... _my son would be_..." She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Ser Damon nodded understandingly. _Though his cock is not so understanding,_ Lyarra noticed. "I'm sorry too, my lady. I never meant to be so forceful."

"No. You weren't forceful," Lyarra assured, shaking her head. "I wanted to, I did. I just... can't."

He nodded again, becoming quiet as Lyarra pulled a nightgown over her naked body. Ser Damon cleared his throat to break the silence. "I should go."

"Perhaps you should," Lyarra agreed. "Goodnight, ser."

"Goodnight, my lady," he replied, giving her a small smile before leaving her bedroom, picking up his clothes on his way out.

She watched him leave, a pensive look on her face. Had it not been for Jon's wail, she would have let him inside of her. She would have fucked him and she would have regretted it come morning. Perhaps she was just as reckless as Ser Damon Hill. _Perhaps I am worse._

Jon's cries became louder, pulling her out of her train of thought. She sighed and went to the nursery to soothe her son. She brought Jon back into her bedroom and laid down with him on her bed as he suckled on her breast. As she smoothed his hair out of his face, Lyarra noticed how Jon was beginning to look more like Jaime. His hair was as dark as Lyarra's, but he had Jaime's beauty. Lyarra smiled down at her son. Until Jaime came back or Robb came to bring her home, Jon would be all she had, her only solace.

And Lyarra was content with that. Her son was everything to her now.

* * *

"He'll not be making it through the night," the guard told Catelyn as she stepped inside the Kingslayer's cell. He looked nothing like fine, handsome man who had married her daughter less than two years ago. He was a shadow of his himself – bearded, malnourished, sitting in his own waste – yet even as a shadow, any half-blind fool would be able to tell that he was handsome.

The Kingslayer stared down at the ground, listening to the bawdy, drunken men as they called repeatedly for his head. _He must know. He will not survive the night._ But he was Catelyn's only hope of getting her daughters back. She would not let him die. "I need to be alone with him," she commanded the guard. She only trusted Brienne to hear what she was about to say to the Kingslayer.

The guard protested immediately. "My lady, our orders..."

"Your orders, which I just gave you, are to leave me alone with him," Catelyn reiterated, her voice becoming more firm this time.

Ser Jaime looked up at her, glancing between Catelyn and the guard. When the guard gave in and left her alone with him, the Kingslayer smirked. "Come to say goodbye, Lady Stark?" he said in that cocky drawl of his. Catelyn could hardly stand the man, yet she kept her expression stony as she let him say his piece. "I believe it's my last night in this world. Is that a woman?" he asked, inclining his head towards Brienne.

Catelyn ignored him and chose not to give the Kingslayer an answer, instead she fixed him with a glare. "Do you hear them out there? They want your head."

Ser Jaime exhaled a deep breath, his breath turning into blue valour as it reached the cold air. "Old Lord Karstark doesn't seem to like me," he commented woefully, as though that bothered him.

"You strangled his son with your chains," Catelyn stated icily.

"Oh," Jaime said in realisation, like he hadn't known. " _Oh._ Was he the one on guard duty?" Catelyn didn't give him an answer, choosing to glower at the Kingslayer. _Of course that was his son, you cruel, stupid man,_ she wanted to shout at him. But alas, Catelyn was raised to be better than that. "He was in my way. I was eager to get back to my wife and child, you see. I presume you've heard." He had the nerve to grin widely. "You're a grandmother now, Lady Stark, to my son. What a small world it is. Any good father, any knight, would have done the same."

Catelyn frowned. She knew well who Jaime was eager to get home to, and it was not his wife, it was not her daughter. It made the anger inside of her flare. "You are no knight," she shot back. "You have forsaken every vow you ever took."

"So many vows," Jaime replied, leaning his head back against the pole that bound him. "They make you swear and swear. Defend the king, obey the king, obey your father, protect the innocent, defend the weak... but what if your father despises the king? What if the king massacres the innocent?" He shook his head. "It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or another." His attention was once again diverted towards Brienne. "Where did you find this beast?"

"She is a truer knight than you will ever be, _Kingslayer_ ," Catelyn retorted.

" _Kingslayer_ ," he repeated, his voice taking on a tone of mocking. "And what a king he was. Here's to Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm. And to the sword I shoved in his back."

"You are a man without honour," Catelyn accused.

Jaime hesitated for a moment, thinking, before a small smirk came upon his lips – a mocking smile. "Do you know, for most of my life I'd never been with any woman but Cersei, and then with Lyarra once we were wed. So in my own way, I have more honour than poor old dead Ned. What was the name of that bastard he fathered?"

"Brienne," Catelyn called. She had enough of the Kingslayer's taunts. She wanted to get this over with and send Jaime on his way.

"No, that wasn't it," Jaime replied thoughtfully. "Snow, a bastard from the North. Now, when good old Ned came home with some whore's baby, did you pretend to love it? No. You're not very good at pretending. You're an honest woman. You hated that boy, didn't you? How could you not hate him? The walking, talking reminder that the honourable Lord Eddard Stark _fucked_ another woman."

Though she tried not to rise to his taunts, Catelyn found it increasingly heard not to allow her anger to show. "Your sword," she said to Brienne and held out her hand. Brienne unsheathed her sword and gave it to Catelyn.

 _Forgive me, Robb._

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Fair warning, the next chapter might take a little longer to write. I'm really busy at the moment with school work and all so I can't make any promises, but I'll do my best to post the next chapter within the next two weeks. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! What's your thoughts on Ser Damon Hill? I'm not sure whether to make him a bigger character? As always, tell me what you think!


	16. Money, Power, Glory

**Money, Power, Glory**

In the last few months, Lyarra began to consider Casterly Rock her home. Though it was difficult, she forced herself to come to terms with the harsh truth that she would never return to Winterfell, no matter how the war ended. House Lannister was too powerful for Robb to defeat. Despite his prowess in battle, the only way Robb would get something out of this rebellion was if he negotiated with Lord Tywin. And even then, Lyarra would never visit Winterfell again because of the tension that would no doubt remain between Houses Lannister and Stark.

So she forced herself to accept her reality. It wasn't so bad, really. Lyarra had Jon. She had Rhea and Genna. She got along well enough with Casterly Rock's household. Though she may have missed her family dearly, Lyarra was by no means miserable.

The gardens of Casterly Rock were spacious and beautiful, adorned with rose bushes and fountains and large fields of grass. Lyarra often brought Jon to the gardens and allowed him to crawl around and pick daisies. It did him no good to be cooped inside all day. Winter was coming – he wouldn't get much more of a chance to go outside once winter hit.

"You're good at that," Rhea commented, nodding to the chain of daisies Lyarra was creating. "I didn't know daisies grew in the north."

"They don't. I'm a fast learner," Lyarra replied. She gave Rhea a cheeky grin and placed the daisy chain around her neck. "Jon, do you like my new necklace?" she asked her son, turning around to show him the daisies around her neck.

Jon giggled at his mother's necklace of daisies and started crawling towards her, a huge smile on his face. Lyarra stretched out her arms to him, waiting for him to crawl into her arms, but then Jon did the unexpected. He used his hands to prop himself up into a standing position and clumsily walked towards Lyarra. His steps were unsteady, but he was most certainly walking. Lyarra squealed and grinned at Jon as he walked towards her and fell into her arms.

"Did you see that?" she asked Rhea, still in shock. Rhea nodded excitedly, a smile on her lips. She pulled Jon away from the embrace and grinned at him. "My brilliant little boy!"

"Soon there will be no stopping him. He'll be running around the gardens so fast that we won't be able to catch him!" Rhea gushed, pinching Jon's cheek and making the little lord giggle.

"This calls for celebration," Lyarra declared. "I'll have the cooks make you lemoncakes for after dinner. How does that sound?" Jon nodded excitedly and gave a little squeak in response. Lyarra laughed, pressing her forehead to his. "Oh, I am so proud of you, my love. Let's get you inside, hmm?"

She picked up Jon and carried him inside the keep. It was times like these, when Jon reached certain milestones, that Lyarra wished Jaime was with her. It wasn't easy raising a child on her own, even if she had Genna and Rhea to help. Little boys needed their fathers as much as they needed their mothers. Lyarra sighed as she set Jon on the end of her bed. He was the image of her father, yet there were times he reminded her of Jaime as well.

That evening, she refused any help from her servants and spent the evening alone with Jon and Fang. Her son and her wolf had an odd sort of bond. Jon would pull at Fang's fur and, surprisingly for such a wild, violent animal, Fang never even growled at Jon. She even let Jon climb on top of her back. Direwolves were strange creatures, staunchly loyal to their masters and, it seemed, their master's family.

When it was time for dinner, Lyarra readied Jon herself and carried him to the Great Hall. As she sat down at her place at the table with Jon on her lap, she felt Genna's disapproving gaze upon her. Genna believed that she was mollycoddling Jon. Lyarra had to admit, there were times that she spoiled Jon and let him away with things that she shouldn't have, but he was her only child. He was all the family she had.

"I have great news," Lyarra told Genna, a large smile on her lips as she pressed her cheek against the crown of her son's head. "Jon took his first steps today!" Her smile grew even wider at the memory.

"Oh, that is great news indeed," Genna replied, offering Lyarra a small, half-hearted smile. Lyarra couldn't help but feel confused. Usually Genna would be ecstatic when Jon did something even remotely impressive that showed he was progressing. "I will tell Tywin in my next letter to him that his grandson is walking now. He will glad to know Jon is so robust." She paused for a moment to take another bite of venison. "But I fear we have matters of more importance to discuss. Lord Lefford refuses to pay tax."

Lyarra sighed. She couldn't just have one evening to gush over her son like a normal mother. Lyarra put her resentment aside and focused on what Genna had just told her. "Why?"

"Because of your display with his sister." Seeing Lyarra's confused expression, Genna huffed and explained snappishly. "The dispute over the succession of Silverhill, when you practically called his sister a whore in front of the most important nobles of the Westerlands."

"I did not call her a whore," Lyarra replied, scoffing.

"You might as well have," Genna responded. "You've managed to alienate one of the most powerful men in the Westerlands. He is refusing to pay tax and I must say, he has just cause."

"His wounded pride is not a good enough excuse to shirk his duties as a bannerman of House Lannister. He must answer for his disobedience."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Genna asked. Lyarra noticed the sharpness in her tone. Of late, Aunt Genna was often short with her. Lyarra was no longer allowed to exercise the power she once did and most of the decisions were made by Genna. She made a mistake by naming Damon Hill the Lord of Silverhill. She knew that now. Yet the mess was already made, and it was her responsibility to clean it up.

"Force," she suggested. Genna immediately scoffed at the idea.

"All of our men are at war," Genna stated. She let out a frustrated huff. "A matter of this significance should only be resolved by Tywin. We will do nothing. Tywin will sort this mess out when he returns from King's Landing."

"No." Lyarra shook her head. She would not allow Lord Tywin to think her incapable. She didn't want anyone to think of her as just a silly, naive little girl who was only good for bearing children. "Lord Tywin put me in charge. I made a great mistake. I will correct that mistake."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Genna questioned, her scepticism evident in her tone.

"I don't know yet," Lyarra said, rising to her feet. She readjusted Jon's position on her hip. "But I will figure something out."

* * *

After two days of riding, Lyarra could finally see Lord Lefford's keep. It was larger than the keeps of her father's northern bannermen, yet not as large as Casterly Rock or Winterfell. The keep boasted of House Lefford's wealth and was made from fine stone. Its windows were adorned with beautiful painted glass. Lyarra took a moment to admire Lefford's keep. Even if she despised him, she had to admit that he had a beautiful home. _Perhaps this is the source of his vanity,_ Lyarra mused, _coming from such a wealthy family and a beautiful keep wouldn't have done much to humble him._

Lyarra sighed and urged her horse forward. She was flanked by a dozen guards who barely spoke with her. However, one of her guards – a friendly man called Ser Gerrard – never stopped talking. Lyarra welcomed his chattiness. When she was left to think, she became anxious.

"Who goes there?" one of Lefford's soldiers called down from the battlements.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. A dozen Lannister guards dressed in red and gold stood behind her, yet this red-headed fool had to ask her who she was. "Lyarra of House Lannister," she announced. "I'm here to see Lord Lefford."

The foolish guard shared a look with one of his fellow men before the other man ran off, no doubt to fetch Lefford. Lyarra frowned, her steely gaze not leaving the red-headed guard. He shifted uncomfortably beneath her stare.

After waiting for quite some time, Lord Lefford stormed across the battlements, red-faced and enraged, and glowered down at Lyarra. "Why are you here?"

"You forget yourself, my lord," Lyarra replied coolly. If there was one thing she learned from her mother, it was how to be polite to undeserving men. "I am the good-daughter of your liege lord, Tywin Lannister, and you have neglected to pay your taxes. I'm here to negotiate."

"Negotiate?" Lefford scoffed. "If you want to negotiate, send Lord Tywin. I do not negotiate with silly little girls."

Lefford turned around and was about to stomp away when Lyarra called after him. She was unable to hide the rage in her voice. "Perhaps I will send Lord Tywin to you. He will not be at war forever, my lord. When he returns and learns that one of his bannermen has refused to pay his taxes, I don't think he will be very pleased." Lord Lefford stopped in his tracks. Lyarra smirked, seeing how his shoulders tensed. " _Or,_ you and I could negotiate and come to a mutually beneficial agreement. What say you, my lord?"

When Lefford turned around to look at her, his eyes were filled with so much rage that they made Lyarra flinch. She had to grow tougher skin if she wanted to be respected, she knew that, but Lyarra was never good at dealing with hostility. Lefford nodded to his guard, not even sparing Lyarra another glance. "Let her in."

With that, Lord Lefford walked away, his shoulders squared and anger radiating from him. The guards lowered the portcullis and Lyarra urged her horse to walk across it, dismounting in the courtyard.

"Only two of you may come with me," she said to the guards, nodding to Gerrard and another strong-looking man. "We don't want Lefford to think we're raiding his keep."

She was led into the library by one of Lefford's servants, a small woman with mousy blonde hair. Her guards stood outside the door as she waited for Lord Lefford to arrive. Lyarra lost track of how long she was waiting. Lefford meant to insult her by keeping her waiting, no doubt. Lyarra balled her fists, her knuckles turning white as she tried to contain her anger.

The door opened again. Expecting Lord Lefford, Lyarra was surprised to see a young woman, not much older than Lyarra, join her in the library. The woman curtsied to Lyarra while the young Lady Lannister tried to figure out where she recognised the woman from.

Then it clicked. Her nameday feast! This woman was Lord Lefford's young wife that he liked to lavish with gifts. "Lady Alys, isn't it?" Lyarra said, giving Lady Lefford a friendly smile. Even though she despised Lord Lefford, Lyarra refused to become instant enemies with his wife who seemed pleasant enough.

"Yes, Lady Lannister," Alys replied. "Would you like some wine?"

"No thank you," Lyarra answered.

Alys smiled awkwardly at Lyarra. "Please, sit," she said, gesturing towards the chairs by the fire. Lyarra smiled at Alys and took a seat in the chair opposite her. "I'm sorry you've been kept waiting for so long."

"Your husband must be rather busy," she stated. She sounded bitter, but Lyarra found that she didn't care as much as she should. Surely Lady Lefford knew that her husband and Lyarra did not get along.

"Yes. He is." Lady Alys went pale and quiet. Lyarra felt bad immediately. Lady Alys was not the one refusing to pay her taxes. If anything, the poor girl deserved to be pitied. Even though Lyarra had been married to man much older than her, Lady Alys had it far worse than her. She was married to a fat, repugnant, fifty year old man with no concern for anyone but himself. The thought of having to bed such a man made Lyarra feel sick.

"There's a chill in the air today," Lyarra said to break the silence.

Alys' eyes widened a little at the odd topic of conversation. Lyarra smiled in response. In the North, when a conversation died down they often brought up the weather to liven it again. Northerners liked to talk about the weather. Lyarra supposed that southerners did not, given how the weather was almost always warm.

"I suppose there is," Alys replied, a small smile crossing her lips.

Lyarra shared her smile. Just then, the door was opened again and Lord Lefford joined them. He grinned when he saw his wife, completely ignoring Lyarra. Lyarra clenched her jaw and said nothing. "My love," he greeted his young wife, "how good of you to entertain our guest."

"Yes, it was very good of her. It's always nice to see that some people still exercise good manners," Lyarra responded, giving Lord Lefford a cheeky smile. She silently chided herself for that after the words left her mouth. She didn't want to rile Lefford up. If his pride was wounded, he'd be less likely to negotiate with her.

Wide-eyed, Alys resembled a doe as she stood up abruptly. "I will leave you two to chat." Just as she was about to walk passed her husband, Lefford grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to him. Reluctantly, Alys pressed a kiss to her husband's lips that Lord Lefford deepened. He tangled his hand in her hair and devoured his wife's mouth. Lyarra looked away, unable to hide her disgusted expression. Lefford continued to kiss his wife for quite some time before he pulled away from her. Alys bowed her head, ashamed, and curtsied to Lyarra. "My lady."

Lyarra gave her a pleasant smile and inclined her head towards Lady Lefford before moving her stare to Lord Lefford, who was smirking at Lyarra. "Now that display is over, I would like to proceed with the matter at hand," Lyarra said as Lefford sat in the chair his wife had previously occupied. "You haven't paid tax for the last four months."

"No, I have not," Lefford replied simply.

"Why?"

"Why? Because you humiliated by sister in front of two dozen noblemen and women. Because you showed outright disrespect towards House Lefford on numerous occasions," Lord Lefford explained. "I will pay tax to House Lannister when I decide you deserve it."

"That decision does not fall to you, Lord Lefford," Lyarra snapped. "You are a bannerman of House Lannister. All bannermen must pay taxes to their liege lords or risk being named oathbreakers. You could be hanged, my lord."

"You do not frighten me," Lefford replied, wearing an arrogant smirk on his lips.

"Does Lord Tywin not frighten you?"

"Lord Tywin is at war. He doesn't have the time or the resources to come back to the Westerlands and storm my keep. By the time he does, I'm sure many other lords will have followed my lead." Lord Lefford's smirk widened. "Nobody wants to be ruled by a prideful, arrogant little girl who has no idea what she's doing."

"Nobody will follow your lead because by the time I leave this keep, you will have paid the sum of money required of you. You will swear to never disrespect House Lannister ever again and you will keep your oath to your liege lord," Lyarra stated.

"And why would I do that?" Lord Lefford asked, his fat face red with anger.

"You don't have to pay tax," Lyarra said. "The Golden Tooth will become independent. House Lannister will have no further involvement in your affairs or your lands. There will be no consequence for your disobedience."

Lord Lefford narrowed his eyes at her. "You're not making sense," he replied.

"I'm making perfect sense." She was the one smirking now while Lefford listened to her proposal, confusion etched on his face. "The Golden Tooth will be the only region in the Westerlands that is free from Lannister influence. No taxes. No answering to House Lannister." She paused and waited for Lefford to interject. When he did not, Lyarra continued. "However, House Lannister will no longer in your mines, your villages, your roads. We will no longer invest in your lands at all. House Lefford will be left to fend for itself."

Lyarra prayed that he did not call her bluff. She did her research, it would be stupid of Lefford to deny Lannister investment, but he was a prideful man and proud men were difficult to predict. While researching the accounts, Lyarra found that investing in Lefford's mines left House Lannister short of money for one year, but with an increase in profits the next. If Lord Lefford agreed to Lyarra's proposal, House Lannister would suffer too much of a loss. However, it would send a message to the other houses that House Lannister tolerated disobedience.

Lefford glared at her. "You think you're so clever," he said. "What if I agree? House Lannister loses a vassal."

"And gains financially," Lyarra replied. That was a lie. It would make no difference. "While you would lose investment. Your mines, your villages and towns would fall apart without Lannister investment and you know that. You won't survive without us. But by all means, agree to my proposal. Listen to your pride ahead of sense."

For a while, Lefford was silent as he thought over Lyarra's proposal. Lyarra watched him anxiously while trying to hide her worry. If Lefford agreed to her proposal, Lord Tywin would never forgive her. He would never trust her with the Westerlands ever again. Lyarra pursed her lips together and impatiently waited for his reply, her leg bouncing uncontrollably beneath her skirts.

"Fine," he said gruffly, glowering at Lyarra. "I'll pay."

Lyarra smiled and let out a shaky breath. She cursed herself afterwards for showing how relieved she was. _This could have went so wrong._ "Good," she replied. "You made the right choice, my lord."

"Leave," he commanded, almost growling at her. He had a short temper and could easily change his mind within a second, so Lyarra decided not to argue with him.

She rose to her feet and inclined her head respectfully towards him, a pleased smile on her lips that only served to infuriate Lefford further. "Very well, my lord," she said. "I expect to receive a payment from you within the next week. Two, at the very most. Good day."

Without sparing Lefford so much as another glance, Lyarra walked out of the library and into the courtyard. She threw her head back and laughed, having never felt so relieved. She had almost bargained away part of Lord Tywin's land. Thank the gods Lord Lefford decided to be sensible today.

"All went well, I take it?" Gerrard asked.

Lyarra nodded, another large smile crossing her face. "Very well," she replied. "Come on. Let's get back to Casterly Rock. We ought to have a feast tonight to celebrate!"

The men cheered at that. As Lyarra urged her horse across the drawbridge, a grin on her lips and flanked by a dozen men, Lyarra realised that she had never experienced such a thrill before.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** To be honest I'm not too happy with this chapter. There's only so much that can happen in Casterly Rock. The next few chapters will be a lot more exciting I think! There was a mixed response about Damon Hill. Just to clarify, Damon wasn't sent by Cersei, but it was interesting to hear your theories! Damon will probably be making another appearance but I won't say in what manner! Again, thanks for all of the reviews! They really do mean a lot and it's great to hear what you think! Hopefully I'll have time to get the next chapter up by next week.


	17. Seduced By Safety

**Seduced By Safety**

The temporary peace Lyarra had enjoyed after Lefford's small-scale rebellion was abruptly shattered by a mere letter. As soon as Creylen handed her the letter, Lyarra saw the royal seal. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as she opened the letter with shaking hands. _I have done nothing wrong,_ she assured herself, yet Lyarra knew that wouldn't be enough for Cersei.

"Mother, look!" Jon called. They had been playing in the gardens when Creylen found her.

"One moment, Jon," she shouted back without even looking at him. She read the letter quickly and quite fearfully. Once she reached the end of the letter, she realised that it could have been much worse. "The queen wants me to return to King's Landing. Lord Tywin is back and she wants me to bring Jon as a surprise for him," Lyarra told Creylen bitterly. "Oh, and it seems we are to have a new queen."

"House Lannister prevailed against Stannis, I take it?"

 _Unfortunately yes,_ she wanted to reply, but bit her tongue before the words could come pouring out. "House Lannister is victorious," she told the old man who sighed with relief. Lyarra had to commend Creylen for how devoted he was towards House Lannister, even if it churned her stomach to think that anyone of House Lannister deserved such loyalty. "House Tyrell is now aligned with the crown. Margaery Tyrell is to be queen."

"A fine match. The Reach is a prosperous region that has had a bountiful harvest, and the people of Westeros are starving! It is wise of the king to wed Lady Margaery, if only for the Tyrell's grain," Creylen droned on.

 _Sansa is free of Joffrey,_ Lyarra thought gleefully. That was all she cared about. Sansa wouldn't have to marry the monster that had their father killed. Lyarra went over to Jon and hoisted him to her hip. "We have to pack."

"Why? Where are we going?"

"To King's Landing," Lyarra told him. "The queen wants to see you."

"Me? Why?"

 _Because she is a vindictive little bitch who wants me to fear for your life._ "You know the queen is your aunt," Lyarra said. Jon nodded. "Well, she wants to meet her nephew. And she wants you to meet your cousins." _Who are also your brothers._ Lyarra almost laughed at how complicated her life had become.

"Have you been there before?" Jon asked as Lyarra brought him inside. His clothes were destroyed with grass and mud. Lyarra undressed him and put on new clothes.

"I have," she told him. "You were born there."

"I was?" Lyarra nodded and continued washing him. "Why?"

Lyarra chuckled. "Because I was there at the time and..." She trailed off, realising that she was opening herself up to a lot of questions that she didn't want to answer. "That's all there is to it. We have to leave tomorrow."

"Why soon?" Jon asked.

"Why _so_ soon," Lyarra corrected. Jon gave her a look that Lyarra had never thought a boy of less than two namedays was capable of giving. Lyarra sighed. "Because the king is getting married in a few months and they want us there. I have to get to know the new queen."

"Why?"

"Because she is the queen," Lyarra said and gave a little laugh.

"I thought my aunt was queen."

"She is," Lyarra replied. She paused, unsure of how to answer Jon. Lyarra found titles confusing, how was she supposed to explain them to her infant son? "It's complicated. Your aunt is the king's mother, so she is the queen. This lady is marrying your cousin, the king, so she will be queen as well."

"Two queens?"

Lyarra nodded. "Two queens." She finished buttoning his doublet and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "There, all done."

Jon hugged her quickly before running off. Lyarra laughed and followed him down the stairs and into the courtyard, where he started to play with the children of Casterly Rock's household as well as some of Lord Tywin's bannermen's children. Jon got along with other children easily. He had a smile that drew children to him. In that way, Jon reminded her of Robb. Robb never had to make an effort when it came to making friends. It was a good quality for an heir to have. Jon was going to be Lord of Casterly Rock someday. Being well-liked would make things easier for him.

Leaving Jon in the hands of his nursemaid, Lyarra looked around the keep for Fang. She found her in the stables, barking at the horses and making them uneasy. Lyarra crouched down in front of her direwolf and scolded her.

"No more of that. If Pekkins sees you, he'll have you kept in the kennels day and night, regardless of whether I'm here or not." As though she understood Lyarra, Fang tilted her head to the side, her eyes wide and pleading. Lyarra scratched behind her wolf's ear and sighed. "I have to go away for a few months. That means you'll have to stay in the stables again. But the kennelmaster has agreed to let you out for an hour every day, so long as you behave." The whine that came from her wolf's lips startled Lyarra. _Perhaps she understands me after all._ She rose to her feet and bid Fang to follow her. "Come on. I won't have time to settle you tomorrow."

Fang whined again, but nonetheless she obeyed her mistress. Lyarra led her to the kennels and tied the rope loosely around Fang's left-behind leg, tears in her eyes as she restrained her wolf. When she restrained Fang, she felt as though she was restraining a part of herself as well. Fang was the North. Fang was her family. Fang was _home_.

Lyarra wiped the tears from her eyes and embraced Fang one last time before leaving her wolf alone in the kennels, with only the dogs for company.

* * *

"I don't like it."

Lyarra looked at Jon in confusion as they approached King's Landing. Jon had wanted to ride a horse for the first time so Lyarra let him share hers. He curled up against Lyarra as she struggled to keep control of the horse and ensure that Jon didn't fall off.

"What don't you like?" Lyarra asked, unsure if he meant the horse or the stench coming from the city.

"The horse," Jon whined. "My bum hurts."

She threw back her head and laughed. "Mine does too. You'll get used to it," she promised him, resting her chin lightly on top of his head.

"Stinks," he commented tiredly, pulling a face at the stench coming from King's Landing.

"You'll get used to that too," she replied, smiling, although it looked like more of a grimace. Lyarra had struggled to get used to the smell the first time she stayed in King's Landing. It smelled like shit and death. After a few days, Lyarra had found that the smell faded to the point where she barely noticed it anymore.

As they approached the gates of King's Landing, Lyarra spotted Lord Tywin and Tyrion waiting to greet her. Lyarra was surprised to see Tywin. He wasn't one for pleasantries, certainly not when it came to someone as insignificant as his son's wife. _My only purpose is to be the Lannister broodmare,_ she thought bitterly. She realised that it was Jon he had come to see. Her only accomplishment.

She handed Jon to his nursemaid before dismounting her horse. She took a look around. Nothing had changed. Feeling uncomfortably aware of someone watching her, Lyarra looked up at the top window on the west side of the Red Keep, finding a beautiful young woman staring down at her. The woman gave her a smirk and disappeared.

Realising that people were watching her, she looked away and took her son back from Dorothe before going to greet her good-father and good-brother. Tywin wore a displeased look on his face as he looked between Lyarra and Jon, while Tyrion presented them with smiles. Lyarra noticed that a part of his nose had been hacked off and he had a long scar marring his face. Nobody had told her that Tyrion had fought in the Battle of Blackwater. Lyarra thought his small stature would render him incapable of fighting. Lyarra admired him for not letting that stop him. _I wonder if Joffrey was as brave._

"King's Landing is no place for a child," Tywin said icily.

"The queen... _requested_ I bring him," she replied bitterly. Lord Tywin was brilliant at hiding his emotions, so brilliant that Lyarra often wondered if he had any at all, but Lyarra could see equal measures of understanding and anger flood across his face. Lyarra placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Jon, this is your grandfather, Lord Tywin." She gave her son a pointed look that she hoped Tywin didn't notice.

"Grandfather," Jon greeted and gave Lord Tywin a clumsy bow.

Lord Tywin's cold eyes softened as he looked upon his grandson. Lyarra even thought she saw the ghost of a smile come upon his lips. She wasn't sure if she could even call it that, but it was the closest thing to a smile she had ever seen on Lord Tywin's face.

"He looks strong," Tywin commented, as though they were speaking of some great, diplomatic matter. "Does he take ill often?"

Lyarra blinked in surprise. "No. Not at all, really. He had a sniffle once," she replied uncertainly. She caught Tyrion snorting before he looked away, sporting a small smile.

"Good." Tywin turned around and bid her to follow him. Lyarra frowned at being treated like a dog, but obeyed nonethless. She gave Tyrion a small smile as she hoisted Jon to her hip and followed Lord Tywin to his solar.

He was staying in the Tower of the Hand. Lyarra got the same, horrible feeling she had the first time she sat in the Hand's solar. This was the last place her father stayed, back when King Robert ruled and there was no war. Lyarra pushed back her tears. She thought she had gotten over her father's death. It was unfair and cruel, but what could she do really? Every now and then, her heart broke for her father and the very thought of him made her tear up.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Tywin gestured towards the seat in front of his desk. She sat down and placed Jon on the floor, letting him run around. To her surprise, he sat at her feet and stayed quiet.

"You gave him a northern name," Tywin commented, glancing briefly at her son.

"I did," Lyarra replied simply. She needed no explanation.

Lord Tywin narrowed his eyes at her. Lyarra shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "He is the heir to Casterly Rock."

"That he is," Lyarra responded. "But he is also my son. I am of the North. I gave my son a northern name."

He glared at her for some time, as though trying to get the measure of her. Lyarra refused to cower. She sat up straight and looked at him evenly. Not angrily or aggressively, but blankly. She had done nothing wrong.

After what felt like forever, Tywin's glare became less intense, though he wore his usual frown. "Jaime has been released."

She knitted her brows together in confusion. "Robb..."

"Not your brother," Tywin clarified. "Your mother let him go, for whatever reason. Perhaps she realised letting Jaime go was her best chance at getting her daughters back. Your mother is a clever woman." Tywin paused, gauging her reaction. "He's still leagues away from King's Landing. But he will be home soon."

Lyarra was silent. She hadn't expected Jaime to come home so soon. She thought she had another year at least before she had to face him. _How am I to act when he comes home?_ Things were different now. They had a child together. She wanted her son to have a father and a happy life. But the thought of Jaime and Cersei... it both hurt and disgusted her.

She put aside her thoughts when Tywin started speaking to her again. Lyarra wondered if he knew about his children. Then she realised that if he did, it wouldn't matter. Lord Tywin would defend his family, his legacy, no matter what.

"Genna told me about the mess with Lefford," Tywin said. Lyarra wanted to bow her head in shame. "You made a mistake. You wounded his pride. Some men are volatile. Lord Lefford is one of them. You insulted his honour, his sister's honour and his niece's legitimacy." Lord Tywin narrowed his eyes at her. "Why?"

"Because the girl is a bastard," Lyarra replied evenly. "You only need look at her to know. It wasn't right."

"And the issue with Gregor Clegane?"

"Clegane raped two girls and pillaged their father's lands. He deserved justice."

Lord Tywin scoffed and leaned back in his chair, watching Lyarra closely. "Ser Gregor is a loyal bannerman of House Lannister. He has served us well and you would do well to remember that." He paused, watching her reaction. Lyarra clenched her fists beneath the table and stayed quiet. "You're like your father. I had thought there was more of your mother in you. Your mother has the intelligence to do what is necessary. Your father was a man blinded by honour and his northern ideals."

"I made a mistake when I named Damon Hill the heir to Silverhill. It should have been Lefford's niece. I realise that now and I apologise for my stupidity." Lyarra watched as Tywin's lips curled upwards. When he did not speak, she continued. "However, I won't apologise for holding Gregor Clegane accountable for raping and pillaging. He's a monster."

"Yes, he is," Tywin replied. "But he's _our_ monster. He does our bidding." Realising that she wasn't going to win this one, Lyarra pressed her lips together and didn't respond. "You mended the situation with Lefford well."

Knowing that was the extent of praise she was going to get from Lord Tywin, she took it with a nod. "He needs us more than we need him and he knows it."

"That he does. You have a mind for figures. Some people are better at dealing with numbers than they are with people," Tywin said. Lyarra wondered if that was his attempt at a joke. "Jaime struggled with numbers as a child. He still does. He said the numbers float around the page, an odd affliction."

She remembered Jaime telling her that. Numbers and letters never stayed in the right order for him. Jaime used to ask her to read to him because he struggled with reading. Lyarra never minded. She enjoyed reading. The books she read to Jaime were especially interesting because they were unsuitable books for young girls to read. They were about warfare, battle plans and leadership strategies, subjects girls weren't supposed to be interested in.

"You may go," Tywin gave her leave with the wave of his hand, dismissing her abruptly. Lyarra hoisted Jon onto her hip and awkwardly curtsied to her good-father, who didn't spare her so much as another glance, and walked out of his solar.

Rhea greeted her outside and led her to their chambers, the same ones Lyarra had stayed in when Jon was born. They spent the afternoon getting settled in and unpacking. She was folding her dresses when a messenger came into her room holding a piece of paper in his hand.

"From Lady Margaery," the messenger explained. Lyarra took the letter from him – it was more of a note, truly – and sent him on his way. She unfolded the note and read Lady Margaery's neat scroll.

 _Lady Lyarra,_

 _It seems that we are to be relatives soon. I would like to get to know you. I am having lunch with my cousins at the Maidenvault. I would be delighted if you could join us._

 _Yours sincerely,  
_ _Margaery Tyrell_

Lyarra folded the note and placed it inside a book, afraid that someone might find it and get the wrong idea. She found Jon running around what would be Jaime's solar and smiled. She sneaked up at him from behind and hoisted him into the air, making him squeal in surprise.

"You're enjoying yourself, I see," Lyarra commented, pressing a kiss to Jon's cheek.

"I like it here," he replied simply, beaming up at Lyarra. "Everyone's nice."

She grimaced at that. A child wouldn't understand the horrible games the lords played and how their smiles were never true. Lyarra brushed Jon's hair out of his face and placed him on the floor again, kneeling before him. "I have to go and have lunch with the future queen, but I'll be back before dinner."

"My aunt? Can I go?"

 _You wouldn't want to if it was._ Lyarra shook her head. "It's not your aunt. The other one. The _future_ queen. Aunt Cersei is queen now."

"The one that will marry my cousin?"

"Yes, that queen," she answered. She pressed another kiss to his forehead. "Rhea will take good care of you while I'm gone." She stood up and said to her handmaiden quietly, "Watch him on those balconies in case he has any bright ideas."

Rhea muffled a laugh with her hand. "Of course, my lady."

With that, Lyarra threw a light shawl over her shoulders and went to the Maidenvault, her heart beating violently in her chest. She had learned not to trust people who seemed to have good intentions, because often their intentions weren't good at all. What would Margaery Tyrell want with a married woman who was the daughter and sister of a traitor? What could she possibly have to gain?

She took in a deep breath as two guards opened the doors for her and stepped inside the area known as the Maidenvault. A group of ladies were giggling at something one of them had said. They stopped when they saw Lyarra. Lyarra spotted the woman she had seen earlier, watching her from the window. That was the woman who stood up to greet her, a large smile still on her face.

"Lady Lyarra, I am delighted you came! I didn't know if you were going to accept my invitation," the woman gushed. Lyarra took a guess at who she was. "I am Margaery Tyrell and these are my cousins. I won't burden you with their names. There are far too many." She chuckled to herself and gestured towards the chair on her right. "Come, sit with us. Will you have wine?"

"Wine? So early?" Lyarra repeated, sounding like silly little fool.

Margaery giggled. "Why, of course! Wine has too fine a taste to only drink it when it's dark." She gave Lyarra an insidious smile. "Come now, Lady Lannister. I suppose drinking is more restrained in the North?"

"My father only let us have a cup of wine at feasts," Lyarra told her.

"But now you are a married woman. With a child as well, I hear!" Margaery gushed, causing her ladies to giggle as though on cue. She poured Lyarra a glass wine and gave her another one of those smiles. "It's not strong. We're not that bad, are we, ladies?"

More giggling. _They're like sheep. Is this what Margaery wishes for me to become? Another sheep in her flock?_ Lyarra forced a smile on her lips and took a sip. Margaery was telling the truth. The wine was weak yet sweet. Lyarra drank it eagerly.

"Butterbumps," Margaery called. Lyarra presumed that Butterbumps was the singing jester because he stopped singing as soon as Margaery called his name. "I do so love your voice! Will you do us all a favour and sing louder?"

The jester nodded and increased the volume of his voice as he belted out _'the Bear and the Maiden Fair.'_ Margaery's ladies had gotten louder as well, their giggles reaching a level of ridiculous loudness.

Margaery leaned closer to Lyarra, her hot breath ticking the skin of Lyarra's ear. "I was sorry to hear about your father. I heard he was an honourable man. He didn't deserve to die like that." Lyarra pulled away from Margaery slightly and looked at her with shock. Margaery merely gave her a small, sad smile. "My family and I may play the game like all the rest, but we don't have a stomach for cruelty. My brother strives to be honourable in battle and so do I, even if my battlefield is very different to his."

"Thank you," was all Lyarra said in response, though she choked on the two words.

"Your sister told me that Joffrey was cruel. I am to marry him and be his queen," Margaery said. Though she frowned, her eyes were alight with the prospect of being queen. "I can control him better than Sansa could. Perhaps better than his mother can. I will make sure he does not hurt her or you. Or your son."

Lyarra blinked in surprise. "I, I don't-"

"You don't have to thank me," Margaery replied with a pleasant smile on her lips, though there was a sinister twinge to her smile. "I wish for us to be good friends, Lyarra. May I call you Lyarra?" Lyarra nodded. "And so you may call me Margaery. I am a very loyal friend, Lyarra. I often do great favours for those I consider to be loyal to me as well."

True, genuine tears formed in Lyarra's eyes. She didn't know why she suddenly felt so overwhelmed by emotion, but she knew one thing. Her tears weren't for Margaery Tyrell. "I haven't had a friend in King's Landing since... ever, really. Lord Tyrion has been kind to me, but he is loyal to his family." Lyarra realised that she was opening up too much to this woman she had just met, yet she felt at ease with Margaery. Margaery made her feel safer than she had in a long time – protected, almost. "I should like to be your friend, my l- _Margaery_ ," she corrected with a smile of her own.

Margaery smiled back, an even larger, brighter smile this time. "Then it is settled! Oh, and I would so love for you to bring your son to meet us for lunch tomorrow. I saw him earlier today and, good gods, he is the image of you! Poor Ser Jaime – there's not a trace of him in your son."

Laughing, Lyarra replied, "You're not the first to say that. He reminds me of my brother actually."

"Robb Stark?" Margaery whispered in a low tone, so low that Lyarra barely heard her.

"A little," Lyarra said. "In how he acts and sometimes when he laughs. But mainly, he reminds me of my other brother Jon Snow. He looks so much like him."

"That is your father's... illegitimate son," Margaery stated.

"Yes, but he was raised with us so we were very close."

"It was quite daring of you to name your son after your baseborn brother, considering the circumstances. I admire you for that," Margaery said. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to dissect Lyarra's reaction. Lyarra tried to keep her face even.

"I never understood why such a big deal was made out of it. I love my brother. I only named my son after him to honour him."

"Still, it was rather brave of you," Margaery insisted. Another smirk came upon her lips as she leaned closer to Lyarra. "How do you think Ser Jaime will react?"

Lyarra smiled at that. "He was the one who proposed I give our son a northern name. He wanted to name the baby Joanna if it was girl, after his mother. He said it was only fair." She paused, thinking of the memory fondly.

Margaery noticed the fond smile on her lips and immediately jumped on it. "You had a good relationship with him."

"Does that surprise you?" Lyarra replied.

Though the question caught her off guard, Margaery kept the easy smile on her lips and replied calmly. "I only saw Ser Jaime a handful of times. He seemed as though he was only capable of loving his sword and armour, and his right-hand, perhaps." Margaery threw her head back and laughed. "Although it would surprise me if anyone in the world could resist you, I would not be shocked if Ser Jaime prioritised swordfighting."

She had to commend Margaery's brilliant use of words. _She can weasel her way out of anything,_ Lyarra noticed, somewhat amazed. She smiled in response. "You flatter me, Margaery. Jaime and I... I won't pretend that it is love. But we were fond of each other, yes."

"You want to see him again," Margaery stated.

"Of course I do," Lyarra replied. "I want him to meet his son."

"But do _you_ want to see him again?" Margaery asked, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she waited for Lyarra's response. She seemed to be accounting for every twitch Lyarra's face made, any sign that gave away Lyarra's true feelings.

Lyarra realised then that Margaery Tyrell's friendship and protection came with a heavy price.

"Yes. Of course I do. He is my husband."

"Of course," Margaery replied, a somewhat satisfied smirk on her lips as she sat back in her chair.

Realising that it was almost time for dinner, Lyarra brushed the wrinkles from her skirt and stood up. The jester stopped playing and the other ladies stopped laughing. "I have to go now. I promised Jon I would eat dinner with him."

Margaery stood to bid her farewell. "Come again, won't you?" Margaery said, standing right in front of Lyarra, so close that Lyarra could feel Margaery's breath on her cheek.

"I would be delighted to," Lyarra replied.

Smiling, Margaery pressed a kiss to the corner of Lyarra's lips and bid her farewell once more.

Lyarra left the Maidenvault confused and with a pit in her stomach, wondering what on earth the future queen's intentions were.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Ohhh we're back in King's Landing! The next few chapters will be very eventful. I love writing chapters set in King's Landing, there's so many dynamics to explore! I find writing Tywin really difficult, even though I really enjoy his character. Let me know if you thought he was a OOC!

Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	18. Desire

**Desire**

In only a few weeks, Lyarra and Margaery had become fast friends. Their friendship baffled Lyarra. Margaery Tyrell's every action seemed to somehow benefit herself or her family, yet Lyarra didn't understand how befriending a married woman of a disgraced house could possibly benefit the Tyrells.

"He is precious," Margaery cooed, pinching Jon's cheek as they broke their fast together. Jon giggled, smiling up at the queen-to-be. Lyarra found herself smiling too. "He was blessed with your good looks. He looks more like you, I think." Margaery glanced up at Lyarra, a cheeky grin on her lips.

Lyarra smiled back at her. "Have you seen the Lannisters? My husband is far prettier than I."

"The Lannisters are beautiful, yes. Annoyingly so," Margaery stated, "but there is softness to your beauty that all the Lannisters lack. I would prefer you to Cersei Lannister any day." Margaery whispered the last part, knowing well that speaking ill of the Lannisters at all was cause for punishment in King's Landing.

"You flatter me," Lyarra replied, looking down at her feet.

"Do I?" Margaery smirked. "I'm glad to hear it."

Not for the first time, Lyarra wondered what Margaery was playing at. Lyarra had nothing to give to her. No titles, no influence, no advantage whatsoever. Those who played the game like Margaery did were never kind for the sake of being kind. Margaery wanted something from her.

"I've been speaking with your sister," Margaery stated after a few moments of silence. Lyarra perked up at the mention of Sansa. "She is miserable here."

It broke her heart to think of Sansa. Her sister had no one. At least Lyarra had Jon, who was both her reason to live and the reason the Lannisters needed her. Sansa had no one but a sister she wasn't allowed to see. The very thought of her little sister made tears form in Lyarra's eyes and stroll down her cheek.

"Oh, Lyarra," Margaery said soothingly, coming over to sit beside Lyarra. She gathered Lyarra in her arms and embraced her, whispering kind words into her ear and rubbing circles into her back. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to upset you."

"It's not your fault. It's the... the whole situation," she sobbed into Margaery's shoulder, wetting the thin fabric of her dress. "Is Joffrey still treating her badly?"

Margaery shook her head. "No. No, not since I took Sansa's place as his bride-to-be." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I think he is trying to act civil for me and my family. He won't hurt her."

"How can you know that?" Lyarra asked. Even though she was distraught, she still had the sense to keep her voice low. "He is mad!"

She gave Lyarra a small smile. "My grandmother taught me how to read people. Joffrey is egotistical and selfish. He thinks that the world revolves around him. His madness makes him difficult to control, but his ego makes him easy to mould into shape. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"I think so," Lyarra replied, still slightly confused.

"A mad man is difficult to control, but an egotistical little boy is much easier. I will make sure he does not hurt your sister. You have my word," Margaery promised.

Though she nodded, Lyarra still wasn't sure. She knew better than to trust people like Margaery. The moment it suited her, Margaery would drop Sansa like she meant nothing to her. Only family could be trusted.

"I don't expect you to trust me, Lyarra. You hardly know me!" Margaery let out a little laugh. "I am ambitious. I will admit to that. But I also hate seeing people hurt unnecessarily and if I can do something to prevent Joffrey from hurting your sister, I will do just that." She chewed on her lower lip. Lyarra watched her closely. It seemed as though Margaery was wondering whether to say something or not. "And I have an idea to ensure that Joffrey can never hurt her again."

"What is it?" Lyarra asked immediately.

"Joffrey is... volatile. He is unpredictable. I can do my best to make sure he behaves, but he is, after all, his own person. And a king at that. Kings have different minds to the rest of us." She paused, gauging Lyarra's reaction which displayed complete and utter confusion. Margaery lowered his voice again and leaned closer to Lyarra. "Sansa needs to get out of King's Landing."

Shocked, Lyarra's eyebrows furrowed. "And where would she go?"

"To the Reach," Margaery replied. "My brother Loras is the heir to Highgarden and he is unmarried. Sansa is a beautiful young woman who would make any man happy. Loras would be married to a most suitable woman and Sansa would get out of King's Landing in one simple move. Sansa would like it at Highgarden. I know she would."

"The Lannisters would never allow it," Lyarra argued, shaking her head. The thought of Sansa being safe and away from Joffrey was too good to be true.

"How could they possibly say no?" Margaery responded, a smug smile on her lips. "We feed the Seven Kingdoms with our grain. We provided them with the army they needed to defeat Stannis. Tywin Lannister is not foolish enough to bite the hand that feeds him."

Lyarra sat back in her seat. Her head was beginning to hurt. Something would go wrong. She just knew it. Nothing ever worked out well for them anymore. Nevertheless, this was Sansa's best chance of getting out of King's Landing. _Isn't it worth the risk?_

"I know you're doubtful. You don't trust us yet. I have talked to Sansa about this. She wants to marry Loras," Margaery explained. "Perhaps you need to hear it from her yourself."

Again, Margaery had confused her. Why did Lyarra's opinion matter if Sansa already wanted to marry Loras?

"I cannot speak with her. The Lannisters won't let us be in the room together!"

"I will arrange everything," Margaery said. "The Lannisters trust me. They have to. I am to be the queen. Do you know how to get to the dungeons?"

"I think so," Lyarra responded.

Margaery grinned. "You'll meet Sansa there tonight, near the skull of Balerion the Black Dread. Have no worry. I will arrange everything."

Without saying anything else, nor giving Lyarra a chance to say anything, Margaery stood up abruptly and pressed a kiss to Lyarra's cheek.

* * *

Despite Margaery's assurance, Lyarra did worry.

She paced up and down the dark area of the dungeons where Margaery had told her to wait for Sansa. The only company she had was the skull of the dead dragon Balerion. Had she not been so nervous, Lyarra would have admired how massive and exquisite his skull was instead of fretting over Sansa. As well as that, she kept hearing noises.

Lyarra was on the second floor below the Red Keep. On the third floor, there were the black cells, where the most dangerous of criminals were kept. Her father had been imprisoned there, even though her father had never done anything dishonourable in his life. He would want Sansa away from King's Landing, Lyarra mused. Even though she didn't trust the Tyrells just yet, she saw the sense behind their proposal. King's Landing was the worst place for Sansa to be. Anywhere else was safer than here.

Hearing footsteps approaching, Lyarra reached up her sleeve and took out the small dagger she'd brought with her. She hid behind the skull of Balerion and closed her eyes, breathing deeply to calm herself. She tried to reason with herself, it was probably Sansa after all, but her mind was telling her to panic, so her heart beat raced and her breathing became rapid.

"Lya?"

She jumped. Recognising the voice, Lyarra stepped out of the shadow Balerion's skull had formed and found her little sister standing in front of her. Lyarra's face was split by a large smile as she cupped her sister's face. In the last two years, Sansa had grown into a great beauty, surpassing that of their mother's. Her hair was a lighter shade of copper, her eyes a more startling blue. Yet when Lyarra looked at Sansa, she still saw the comforting sight of her mother.

Her grin only became wider as she wrapped Sansa in her arms, breathing in her sister's scent. When she pulled away, she started to check for bruises. "He has not hurt you lately, has he?"

"No," Sansa replied. "Since Margaery became his betrothed, he has not touched me. I am allowed more freedoms as well." She allowed a smile to come upon her lips. "I saw Jon yesterday with his nurse. I couldn't say hello because the nurse was watching me."

"She's infallibly loyal to the Lannisters," Lyarra said bitterly. She had been short with Jon's nurse on more than one occasion. Sometimes the old woman would eavesdrop on her conversations with Jon so she could have something to report back to Tywin.

"Jon looks so much like Father," Sansa went on, wearing a wistful smile. "When he looked at me, I saw Father's eyes. A lot more youthful than his had been, of course." Lyarra bowed her head and chuckled at that, trying to hide her teary eyes. "He reminds me of Jon and Arya too. He's yours. All yours. The Lannisters didn't get a look in."

She laughed again. "It delights me as well. They have taken so much from us, yet the future Lord of Casterly Rock will have brown hair, grey eyes and the Stark look. He will have the northern sense of honour as well. I will make sure of it."

Sansa beamed at that. "Let the heir of Casterly Rock be Ned Stark reborn."

"It serves them right, after all they've done," she replied, anger and bitterness laced in her tone. Noticing how Sansa's eyes widened, Lyarra pushed back her anger and forced herself to calm down. "I'm sorry. It's just that seeing you now reminds me of how long we've be separated. It would have been different if we were both happily married. But no, we are both prisoners by the same people. Just in different ways."

"I haven't seen you since the birth," Sansa stated. "They wouldn't let me see you and Jon. Joffrey said he didn't want Jon having two Starks whispering treason into his ear." She shook her head and scoffed. "He is truly mad. I can't believe I didn't see it before. I was such a stupid, stupid little girl."

"You were young and foolish and thrust into an environment you weren't ready for," Lyarra reassured her sister with a calm smile. "You've grown up now. I'm proud of you. If it wasn't for you, I don't think I would have survived the birth."

"Don't say that," Sansa chided, horrified.

"No, it's true. You comforted me. I was so confused. I wanted to give up, but you wouldn't let me. A stupid little girl would have ran away in fear. You stayed by my side." Lyarra squeezed Sansa's hand and gave her a smile.

"I was so scared," Sansa replied, her voice shaking as tears gathered in her eyes. "You kept saying things that didn't make sense. I think... at one point, you were calling for Mother and Robb. Bran, too. You said it wasn't your fault."

Lyarra knitted her brows together in confusion. "I don't remember that."

"I don't know what you were saying, but you were really distressed." Sansa wiped her eyes and tried to compose herself. "I was so afraid, Lya. I thought I... that I..." She sobbed. "I thought I was going to lose you too!"

Sansa was overcome by sobs again. Lyarra wrapped her arms around her sister and rubbed her back. "Oh, Sansa. It's alright. I'm here now. Look at me." She cupped Sansa's face in her hands and looked her sister dead in the eye. "You are not going to lose me. You and I are going to go back to Winterfell someday together. Maybe not for very long time, but I swear to you, someday we will go home."

It was only after she made the promise that Lyarra realised the gravity of what she had said. How on earth were they supposed to go back to Winterfell when they were surrounded by Lannisters? When Sansa was soon going to be wed to a Tyrell and Lyarra was already wed to a Lannister?

Nonetheless, Lyarra had made a promise. And like a true Stark, Lyarra was going to keep her word.

"Do you mean that?" Sansa asked.

Lyarra nodded and affirmed her promise with certainty in her voice. "Yes. I mean it. Even if you wed Loras Tyrell, we'll find a way."

"Margaery told you," Sansa realised.

"Yes," she replied, nodding. "And I think it's a good idea, but only if you want to."

"I think I would like Highgarden," Sansa said. Lyarra wondered if they were her words or Margaery's. "And Loras Tyrell is kind. Kinder than Joffrey, that's for sure."

"You've spoken with him?"

"Yes. A few times now. I like him. He is very handsome," Sansa stated, reminding Lyarra of the girl Sansa used to be before they left Winterfell, before she went with Father to King's Landing. Seeing Lyarra's expression, Sansa continued speaking, "I know what you're thinking, but I'm smarter now, Lya. Loras is nothing like Joffrey and his family are nothing like the Lannisters, even if they are just as ambitious."

"If you're certain..."

"I am," she replied. "I need to get out of King's Landing. I don't know when Joffrey will stop behaving himself for Lady Margaery and start hurting me again. Do I have your blessing on this?"

Lyarra smiled. "Of course you do," she told her sister. She embraced Sansa again and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I'm happy if you're happy."

* * *

Lyarra had spent the rest of that night wondering why the Tyrells wanted Loras to marry Sansa. She realised why Margaery had been so friendly towards her, because Margaery knew that if Lyarra did not want Sansa to marry Loras, Sansa would not marry him. But what confused Lyarra was why would they go to such lengths to make sure that Sansa married Loras? Why did it matter so much?

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a soft knock on her door. She glanced to Jon, checking that the knocking had not waked him. When she saw that he was still sound asleep, Lyarra opened the door to find a man dressed in green and gold waiting on the other side. Without saying anything, he handed her a note and pressed a finger to his lips. Lyarra took the note and said nothing as the man walked away. Speechless, she watched him walk down the hall without making so much as a slight sound.

She shook her head and closed the door. Bewildered, she opened the note and immediately recognised Margaery's handwriting. _Come to my room. We need to talk. Burn this._

Of all the notes Margaery had sent her, inviting her to her rooms, why was this invitation so secretive? Why did this note have to be burned? Despite her confusion, Lyarra followed Margaery's orders and threw the note into the fire. She checked on Jon one last time before she threw her shawl over her shoulders and went to Margaery's room. She couldn't refuse Margaery anything after all the queen-to-be had done for her, even if that meant leaving her son on his own.

She promised herself that it would be only be a quick visit, but she knew better. Lyarra would stay in Margaery's bedroom as long as Margaery wanted her there. She had Lyarra wrapped around her finger and the future queen knew it well.

Afraid of waking anyone up, Lyarra knocked on Margaery's door quietly. She wrung her hands, anxiously waiting for Margaery to open the door before someone saw her. When Margaery opened the door, she revealed herself wearing a large smile and a very thin nightgown that did little to hide what was underneath.

"Lyarra, come in," she said, stepping aside so Lyarra could enter. "I'm delighted you came. Would you have some wine?"

She was about to say no, but then she realised that she probably needed some wine to get through whatever it was Margaery had to tell her. "Yes, please."

Margaery poured Lyarra a glass of dark red wine and handed it to her, wearing a coy smirk on her lips. Lyarra watched Margaery carefully, curious as to what she was playing at. "You spoke with Sansa," Margaery said, sitting at the end of her bed.

She crossed her legs and sat back, doing nothing to hide her curves or her pink nipples that were poking through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Lyarra had to admire Margaery's shapely body, unmarred by childbirth. Lyarra's body had undergone many changes because of pregnancy, some good, some bad.

Lyarra pushed those thoughts to the back of her head. She shook her head and tried to compose herself. Remembering that Margaery had asked her a question, she tried to answer it. "Yes, I did. She seems happy to marry Loras."

"And you? Are you happy about it?" Margaery asked.

She took a few moments to answer before deciding on telling Margaery the same thing she had told Sansa. "I'm happy if Sansa is happy. So long as Loras treats her well..."

"And he will," Margaery assured her.

"Then I have no reason to oppose," Lyarra said. Her words received a large, satisfied smile from Margaery. "I should thank you for helping me see Sansa again. It meant a lot. You put yourself in danger so that I could speak with her. Not many people would do that."

Margaery responded first with a slight smile. "We've become fast friends, Lyarra. And it delights me to say that I consider you one of my closest friends," Margaery's smile became coy again. "And friends must sometimes... perform favours for each other. Don't you think?"

"Yes," Lyarra replied uncertainly. "And I am most grateful for your help in allowing Sansa and I to meet. It is a kindness I should never forget."

"I am glad to hear that," Margaery said. She patted the area beside her on the bed. "Sit with me," she told Lyarra, who sat next to her like an obedient dog. "You know, from the very moment I first saw you on top of your horse, I knew... I just had to have you. I wanted to be your friend, but now, I see that's just not enough. You understand, don't you?"

Lyarra looked at her in confusion and shook her head. "No, I can't say that I do."

"I like you, Lyarra," Margaery told her, resting her hand on Lyarra's knee and drawing circles with the tip of her finger. "In ways that a woman should not like another woman, but yet I find myself thinking of you in the most ungodly of ways. It is like how you desperately needed to see your sister and I helped you. Now, I am the one who must ask for a favour. Will you help me, as I helped you? As I hope to continue to help you, if we are to remain _friends_?"

She could feel her heart beat rapidly and her mouth become dry. Suddenly, she felt rather afraid. "I don't understand..."

"You don't have to," Margaery whispered. She leaned towards Lyarra and brushed her thumb against Lyarra's lips. Lyarra felt Margaery's hot breath against her mouth. She smelt of sweet wine and rose petals. "You just have to say yes."

Just like that, Lyarra understood fully. Margaery was willing to help her. The future queen was going to keep Lyarra, Sansa and Jon safe... for a price. She was asking for Lyarra's body and her pride. In that moment, she realised how vulnerable she was, how helpless and weak. Jaime wasn't here to protect her and when he came home, he would no doubt choose Cersei over her. Her brother was leagues away, fighting a war against her husband's family. Lyarra had no one to protect her. And here Margaery was, offering her protection in return for something that was tiny to Lyarra in comparison to all that Margaery offered.

If she had to sacrifice her pride and chastity, _her honour_ , for her family then so be it.

Lyarra leaned closer to Margaery and whispered against the future queen's lips. " _Yes_."

* * *

She had been passed to Jaime Lannister like a broodmare because King Robert wanted to show Tywin Lannister who was in charge.

Her worthiness as a woman, as a person, was only asserted when she had her son.

Her own brother wasn't even trying to get her back because she was now someone else's property, tainted and spoiled by marriage.

And yet, despite all that, Lyarra Stark had never felt so used.

It was necessary, she knew that, and if she had to make the same choice again, she would lie with Margaery Tyrell to ensure her son's safety. All of that didn't make her feel any better. It made her feel vulnerable and used.

She lay beside Margaery, panting and trying to control her breathing. Margaery had touched her in places only Jaime ever had, and Lyarra had touched Margaery in places, done things with her, that she had never even thought of doing with a woman. Some of the things Margaery did to her felt amazing, like when Margaery kissed the area between her legs and made her reach her peak, but it all felt so wrong. Not because Margaery was a woman, but because Lyarra knew that she didn't have a choice.

Tears gathered in her eyes as she sat up and threw her legs over Margaery's bed, as naked as her name day. She wiped her tear-stained cheeks and pushed back her tears. She was sick of crying. Crying didn't solve anything.

As Lyarra dressed herself, she was well aware of Margaery watching her. Lyarra wasn't sure what to say. She was relieved of that worry when Margaery spoke again. "When I am queen, I will make sure that Joffrey will not touch or harm you or your sister. I swear it," Margaery told her, sitting up in bed and placing a hand on Lyarra's bare back.

"Do you mean that?" Lyarra asked, turning around to face the future queen.

Margaery smiled, a far more genuine smile than any other Lyarra had ever seen her wear. "More than I have meant anything since I came to this treacherous place. I will protect you. I promise you that. Do you trust me?"

"I can try to," Lyarra replied. She was sick of all the lies, so she spoke truthfully.

"That's all I can ask," Margaery answered with a smile. "Turn around. I'll lace up your dress." Lyarra did as she was bid and let Margaery lace up her dress. "Goodnight, Lyarra," she said when she was finished tying the laces.

"Goodnight, Margaery," Lyarra said as she stood up and left Margaery's room.

She tried to be quiet as she went back to her bedroom. Afraid of waking up Jon, she closed the door behind her softly and undressed for bed. She saw that he was still asleep and climbed into bed beside him.

"Mama, where-" she heard him ask. Her heart sunk.

"Hush, my love. Go back to sleep. Mama's not going anywhere again."

 _Until Margaery calls for me again._

She struggled to keep her voice steady as she sung Jon back to sleep, singing the same songs her own mother used to sing for her. Once Jon was fast asleep, she allowed herself to think about what had just happened. Tears crept down her cheeks before she could stop then and, soon enough, she was bawling her eyes out again. _What have I become?_ She asked herself, wondering how the same woman who had brought Lord Lefford to heel was now being manipulated and used like a bedslave.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Plot twist! In Westeros, it's not uncommon for ladies to have bed fellows, but it's looked down on for them to have sex with other women. It's not illegal though, just something that would ruin their reputation. Some of you might like this storyline, some of you might not... To be honest, I only ever introduce storylines if they help the developments of a character. Sleeping with Margaery will seriously affect Lyarra because she understands fully now how little control she has and how vulnerable she is. Lyarra's biggest flaw is her pride, which will only get worse as the story continues. This storyline, however, should only last two or three chapters because guess whose coming home in Chapter Twenty? Wink, wink.

Just a little warning for what is to come... this a story set in the world of Game of Thrones. It's not going to be happy all the time. It's a going to be a good bit happier than Game of Thrones itself because I couldn't handle writing something that depressing, but this fic will get a great deal darker near the end. Before a controversial chapter, I will have a warning at the start of the chapter stating what's going to happen. I don't write things for shock value. I write plot lines because they're important to the overarching plot.

So, now that little rant is over, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Tell me what you think... any criticisms or comments?


	19. The Kingslayer's Wife

**The Kingslayer's Wife**

If Lyarra had her way, she would have returned to Casterly Rock in an instant. King's Landing made her feel on edge constantly. It was the people, to be exact, who made her constantly anxious and fearful. What made her anxiety worse was the fact that in an instant, Joffrey could order her death or her sister's death or even Jon's death – and very little could be done about it. Of course, Tywin Lannister may intervene on her behalf and he would most definitely intervene on Jon's behalf, but what if Lord Tywin was nowhere to be found and Joffrey was able to give the order without being reprimanded by his grandfather or mother first? All that power in the hands of an unpredictable, spoilt boy like Joffrey made Lyanna uneasy.

Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns, was among the list of people who made Lyarra's stomach churn with worry, who made her head whirl with thoughts of betrayal and backstabbing, who seemed so duplicitous that it made Lyarra's head ache... and yet, despite all that, Lyarra had agreed to have lunch with her today. Because, _once again_ , she had no alternative.

The part of the garden that the Tyrells now called their own was filled with the most beautiful flowers and smelled of roses. The calming noise of water running down the fountain almost succeeded in quelling Lyarra's worries. _Almost_.

She took a deep breath and stepped closer to the Queen of Thorns. The older woman was inspecting a bouquet of roses that didn't seem to catch her fancy and so was shouting at the poor girl who had offered them to her. The girl called Lady Olenna grandmother and looked to be near tears. Only then did Lady Olenna notice Lyarra.

"Ah, Lady Lannister!" she called, standing up to greet her.

Lyarra climbed the steps that led to where Olenna was sitting and gave the older woman a polite smile. "Lady Tyrell. It is nice to meet you."

"How lovely to hear," Lady Olenna replied, though there was a bite to her tone. "Sit, sit." She gestured to the seat opposite to her. Lyarra obliged. She noticed that Olenna's musician was the same one from the night she first met Margaery. "Ah, I take it you've met Butterbumps."

 _That's his name,_ she realised, eyeing the musician closely. Olenna had him use the same trick, playing loudly so no one could hear their conversation. Lyarra wondered what Olenna had to tell her. "Yes. He plays for Margaery often."

"You and Margaery have become very close." The Queen of Thorns narrowed her eyes at Lyarra, gauging her reaction.

"Yes, we have. I don't have many friends here in King's Landing, as you can imagine. Margaery was the first," Lyarra replied. Spending time with Margaery had turned her into a better liar and she was now much better at flattery. Despite that, Lyarra knew that Lady Olenna saw right through her.

Lady Olenna was silent for a few moments as she stared at Lyarra, as though she was sizing her up. "You're a Stark. I met your father once. He liked to get straight to the point, no frills or frivolities. I liked that about him. I counted on you being the same."

She blinked in surprise. "How do you mean?"

"I know about you and Margaery," Olenna said, making Lyarra feel like a child who had just been caught doing something bad. "I don't judge you. In Highgarden, we are much more lenient about these things. Not quite as lenient as Dorne, but we do not vomit at the thought of two girls sharing a bed. I see no harm in it. Here, however, things are much different. If someone was to find out, both of your reputations would be ruined and Tywin Lannister would have an excuse to break Margaery's betrothal to Joffrey, should he feel the desire to."

They both knew that wasn't going to happen. Lord Tywin needed the Tyrells as much as the Tyrells wanted Margaery to be queen.

"We're being careful," Lyarra insisted.

"Yes, I know. Margaery is a clever girl and you know that the repercussions will be far more severe for you than they would be for Margaery." Lyarra lowered her head and stared at her feet. She didn't even want to lie with Margaery, and yet she would be the one to suffer more for it. Lady Olenna sighed. "If I had my way, you and Margaery would not do so much as look at one another. But while Margaery is savvy, she is a creature of passion, just like her brother, and I have long since given up on trying to tame them both. All I can do is make sure that nobody finds out."

"Nobody will find out. I have told no one."

"And when your husband comes home from war?" Lady Olenna asked. "What will happen then? How will you hide your affair with Margaery from him?"

She bit her lip. She couldn't tell Margaery's grandmother than when Jaime came home and she had little use for Margaery, Lyarra would be more than willing to find a way to end their dalliance. She tried to phrase it in the best way possible. "When Jaime comes home, hiding our relationship will be a lot harder. I don't think that it will be safe for either of us."

Surprising Lyarra, Lady Olenna smiled at that. "Good. You have your sense. I don't believe Margaery is stupid enough to continue having the Kingslayer's wife as a bedmate when the Kingslayer is in the very same keep."

Lyarra let out a relieved breath at that. She hoped the Queen of Thorns didn't notice. If something happened and Jaime never came home, Margaery would be her only hope. Lyarra did not want to lose that security.

Lady Olenna moved to sit at the edge of her seat and leaned closer to Lyarra. "If anyone ever finds out, if you leave any trace of your dalliance, both you and Margaery will be disgraced, even though you both come from great houses the scorn on your names will never be removed. The only difference is that Margaery has a family to catch her when she falls. You, on the other hand, will have no one to help you up, my dear."

Her mouth suddenly became very dry again. She swallowed and tried to compose herself. "If that is all, Lady Tyrell, I promised my son that I would be back for lunch."

The Queen of Thorns flashed her a smile. "Of course. Good day, Lady Lannister."

* * *

Because of her chat with Olenna Tyrell earlier that day, Lyarra immediately started to panic when one of Lord Tywin's soldier knocked on her door and said that Lord Tywin wished to speak with her. _He knows, he knows, he knows._ She tried to calm herself down. How could Lord Tywin possibly know? Olenna Tyrell wouldn't have told him, knowing that her granddaughter's reputation would be tainted as well. Margaery certainly wouldn't have. So who?

She took in deep breaths. She would simply have to explain herself to her good-father and hope that he saw reason. As she walked into his solar, various different scenarios played out in Lyarra's head. In one, she was brought to the tower and executed. In another, she was separated from her son. Although her vivid imagination was brilliant when it came to making up stories for Jon, it became a curse in situations like these.

Lyarra sat down in the chair opposite Tywin. This time, her good-father did not ignore her for a good half an hour. Instead, he placed down his pen within a few seconds of her entering and narrowed his eyes at Lyarra. Like Olenna Tyrell had done earlier that day, Tywin Lannister seemed to be sizing her up.

"Do you know why I summoned you?"

She blanked, wondering if it was better to tell the truth or not. Margaery had shown her how to lie. It was time she put her new skill into practice. "No. I do not."

Lord Tywin stayed quiet, his permanent glare resting upon his face. "I am going to say this bluntly in the hope that you will return the favour," he said in his usual matter-of-fact tone. "Did you know about the Tyrell's scheme to marry your sister to Ser Loras?"

As soon as he said the words, Lyarra let out a relieved breath before she realised that conspiring behind Tywin Lannister's back was not an offense to be taken lightly either. How could he prove that she knew about it? Lyarra decided to lie about this as well.

"No, I did not. Why would the Tyrells do that?" She cursed herself for her high-pitched tone.

She swore she caught Lord Tywin rolling his eyes. "Do not test my patience, Lyarra. You're a terrible liar. So I ask you again, did you know about Ser Loras and your sister?"

Lyarra sighed and sat back in her seat. "Yes, I did."

"Conspiring against the crown is treason," he stated.

"This is hardly treason," Lyarra said, scoffing. "Sansa is not safe here. You know that. How long until the king gets bored of Margaery Tyrell and decides to take out his frustrations on my unprotected sister?"

"That is none of my concern," Tywin asserted, glaring at Lyarra.

"Well, it is mine," Lyarra shot back. She felt herself being riled up and knew that she should calm down. Lord Tywin was the head of House Lannister and far more powerful that she was. She knew this, and yet her anger would not abate. "She has been beaten and harassed by the king, over and over again, for the most stupidest of reasons!"

"She is our most valuable hostage." He laughed derisively. "We can't just bargain her away because she's not happy here."

"What good is a hostage if they're dead? Your grandson made that mistake before with my father."

"Control yourself," Tywin snapped at her. He managed to scare her into silence with a simple scowl and two harshly spoken words. "Sansa will marry Tyrion within the week." Lyarra opened her mouth to oppose, but one look from Tywin silenced her. "She must be wed to the right man. A man who will not use her claim to the North for his own benefit."

He wasn't the worst person for Sansa to marry. He was a kind man and he had a sense of humour, although Lyarra didn't think Sansa would appreciate those qualities for a very long time. She was still in love with the idea of knights and fair maidens, though the months she'd spent in King's Landing had done much to disillusion her. _At least_ _he's better than Joffrey._ She set the bar low, but comparing Tyrion and Joffrey put the situation into perspective.

When it became clear that Lyarra wasn't going to say anything else, Tywin continued speaking. "If you ever go against House Lannister again, I will see to it that you are firmly reprimanded. You are a Lannister, not a Stark. Our desires are now your desires. You've done your job. You've produced an heir of Houses Lannister and Stark. We have the key to the North now. You are very much disposable."

She couldn't hide the horror Lord Tywin's words caused her to fear. Nor could she hide the fear that had been triggered inside of her. She barely heard him when he gave her leave. Her feet moved of their own accord. Before she had realised what had happened, she was in her bedroom. She shut the door behind her.

Everything hit her all at once. Her fragility, her weakness, her loneliness... how unimportant she was. She felt so, so weak. Her legs gave in from under her and she slid down the door, sobbing relentlessly. She hugged her knees to her chest and sobbed into her legs. She wanted her mother to comfort her. She wanted her father to tell her that everything was alright. She wanted Robb to cheer her up in the way that only he could. He was her twin, her other half, and for all she knew, she would never see him again.

"Mother?" _Oh, fuck._ She looked up to see Jon toddling towards her, looking confused as he took in the sight of his mother curled into a ball on the ground. "Why are you upset?"

 _Because I am nothing. I mean nothing to anyone but you._ It was times like these that she realised Jon was her only reason to live. The only person worth living for. Lyarra wiped her eyes and noticed his nurse had followed him. She shot the woman a glare as she rose to her feet and smoothed her skirts.

"Leave us," she ordered the woman harshly.

The nurse made an indignant noise, but did as she was told. Lyarra smiled at Jon and held his hand, leading him to the chair by the fire. She pulled him onto her lap and hugged him. "You needn't worry about me, my love. I'm fine."

"Why were you sad?"

Lyarra struggled to find an answer for him. Instead, she kissed his forehead. "I'm not sad anymore. You made me happy again," she told him simply.

Jon nodded, his eyes becoming heavy with sleep. He fell asleep in her arms.

* * *

Lyarra felt sick to her stomach. She wasn't a particularly vain person, yet seeing her once naive little sister marrying a man that was half her height _and_ a Lannister did not sit right with her. Sansa deserved to marry a handsome knight, just as she always wanted. That had been stolen from her by the very family she was about to marry into, the very family Lyarra was already apart of.

As she watched Sansa walk down the aisle with none other than King Joffrey as her escort, Lyarra mused on how strange their lives had become. Only little more than two years ago, they were at home in Winterfell. Lyarra was unmarried and Sansa was still her annoyingly naive little sister who dreamed of southern knights and knew all the southern songs off by heart.

"She looks oretty," Jon whispered against Lyarra's ear, covering his mouth with his hand. Even though he knew little about his mother's and aunt's situation, he understood enough to know that they all had to be careful.

"She does," Lyarra replied.

Her eyes were glued to her little sister as Joffrey handed her over to Tyrion Lannister. Sansa stood and waited for Tyrion to place his house's cloak upon Sansa's shoulders. From how tense Sansa's shoulders were, Lyarra could tell that Sansa knew Tyrion wouldn't be able to put the cloak on her. She was far too tall for him. She was doing this on purpose, her last act of defiance. Lyarra would have applauded her, if Sansa wasn't humiliating the only tolerable member of House Lannister.

Eventually, however, Sansa lowered herself onto her knees and allowed Tyrion to cloak her. The procession from then on was rather boring, filled with vows and oaths. Lyarra remembered her own wedding and how frightened she had been. Compared to Sansa's situation – being forced to marry a man from the family who murdered their father – Lyarra's wedding was a dream. At least the war between Houses Lannister and Stark came _after_ her wedding and she wasn't forced to marry Jaime, even if she had little choice in the matter.

After the wedding, Lyarra wanted to find Sansa and comfort her, but she never got the chance. She got into the wheelhouse she'd arrived in and pulled Jon onto her lap. Only a few seconds after she had chosen her wheelhouse, the queen saw it fit to join her inside of it. Lyarra groaned internally.

"Sister," Cersei greeted, wearing a broad smile that reeked of smugness. Lyarra forced herself to smile back. "Sansa looked very beautiful today, didn't she?"

"Yes, she looked magnificent."

Cersei's smile turned cold and mocking. "It was a pity you couldn't help her get ready for her wedding, but you know how things are. We have to be cautious."

She forced the smile to stay on her face as she nodded. "Of course, Your Grace."

"I don't believe I've properly seen your son since he was only a baby," Cersei commented, sitting on the edge of her seat so she could be closer to Jon. She pinched his cheek. Jon merely stared at his aunt with a confused look on his face. "He's precious. Although it's unfortunate he doesn't look more like Jaime."

"Really? I think he's very handsome," Lyarra replied, looking at her son fondly.

The queen watched her carefully, disdain flashing in her green eyes as she looked between Lyarra and Jaime's son. Lyarra was reminded once again of Cersei and Jaime's relationship. Of how the woman in front of her was not only her good-sister, but her husband's lover and the mother of his children. The thought made vomit rise up her throat.

"Your sister's beauty has been wasted on my brother. Such a shame. She could have done so much better." There was a looseness in Cersei's demeanour that made Lyarra wonder if the queen was drunk.

"I'm sure Lord Tyrion will be a good husband to her," Lyarra said. _Better than your son,_ she wanted to say, for that was the only thing Lyarra knew for certain.

At that, Cersei threw her head back and laughed derisively. "You're funny. Jaime never told me you were _funny_." She bit her lower lip and looked at Lyarra like she was stupidest thing in the world. "You don't honestly believe that my whoring, drunken letch of a brother will be in any way decent to your little sister." Cersei scoffed. "You're even stupider than I thought." Lyarra stayed silent and stared at her hands. "He will continue to drink. He will continue to fuck as many women as he pleases. Because he knows no better. He has no control over himself and his urges."

Lyarra bit her tongue. "I don't know Lord Tyrion well enough to make a judgement."

"You can see how small he is. That should be enough. Do you honestly believe he will be able to satisfy your sister with his tiny cock?" Cersei asked, her voice taking on a tone of mocking.

She wished she could cover Jon's ears, but that would have been insulting to the queen. So she kept her expression as uncaring as she could until they arrived at Red Keep. She almost jumped out of the wheelhouse, not waiting for Cersei to join her. She went to the Great Hall with Jon on her hip and sat in the seat assigned to her.

Sansa's wedding was not as grand as hers had been, given that Lyarra's marriage was to the heir of House Lannister and not nearly as rushed as Sansa's was. Again, Lyarra lamented over how Sansa deserved so much better. If their father was alive, she would have been married to a man who deserved her. She would have had a wedding that befitted her station with her friends and family present.

Instead, her wedding reception was comprised of the same southern nobles who had done nothing as Joffrey had her stripped and beaten. Lyarra despised them all.

Five courses later, Lyarra's stomach was bloated from all the food. She forced herself to sit up straight, even though she wanted nothing more than to slouch and belch. She watched Tyrion drink his way through two and a half goblets – almost three now – and Sansa look at her new husband with distaste. Lyarra didn't blame her. Tyrion's behaviour was rather disgusting.

She noticed Sansa standing up and leaving the Great Hall to get some air. Lyarra looked to Joffrey, who was ranting about something to his mother, and then to Tywin, who was scolding Tyrion. Seeing that the three people who would reprimand her were occupied, Lyarra lifted Jon into her arms and followed Sansa outside the Great Hall.

"Sansa," she whispered. Sansa spun around, a frightened look on her face that quickly morphed into one of relief and joy when she saw Lyarra. Lyarra wrapped one of her arms around Sansa and embraced her tightly. "Oh, Sansa, I'm so sorry. I didn't think this would happen."

"Nor did I," Sansa replied. She gave Lyarra a rueful smile. "It seems as though we are both _Lannisters_ now." She said the word as though it was a curse. Had it not been for her son, Lyarra would have agreed with Sansa. "Hello Jon," Sansa cooed, her smile becoming kinder as she looked at her young nephew. "I'm your aunt Sansa." Jon smiled back at her with a toothy grin. Sansa's eyes became teary. "Oh, he is the image of Father!"

Lyarra rubbed Sansa's arm in an attempt to comfort her. "I wish I could have done something."

Sansa wiped her eyes and shook her head. "This isn't your fault. This is all _them_."

"Better Tyrion than Joffrey," Lyarra pointed out. She glanced across the hall at Sansa's husband, who seemed rather determined to be as drunk as possible before the bedding ceremony. "He might not be the most pleasing to look at, but at least he won't hurt you."

"Oh, I would surely take Tyrion over _him_ any day," Sansa stated. "He's just... not..." She struggled to find the right words, so Lyarra gave them to her.

"Not what you pictured your future husband to look like."

"You think I'm shallow," Sansa replied.

"No, of course I don't!" Lyarra assured her younger sister. When she was Sansa's age, she would have thought the very same. In the past two years, Lyarra had realised that the worst monsters were the pretty ones. "Most women would think the same way."

"Do you think he will make me..."

Lyarra understood what she was implying immediately. She blinked, struggling to find an answer that was both truthful and gentle. "I'm not sure. Lord Tywin has probably told him to and it takes a lot of bravery to disobey Tywin Lannister."

She wrung her braid and groaned in frustration. "And to think, I was almost happily married to Loras Tyrell."

"You don't know for certain that your marriage would have been a happy one," Lyarra stated. She tried not to pay much attention to rumours, but many people believed that Ser Loras preferred the company of men over women. One prominent rumour Lyarra kept hearing was that Ser Loras was in love with Renly Baratheon.

"But Ser Loras is a knight!" Sansa insisted.

"Ser Jaime is a knight as well and I am by no means overwhelmingly happy," Lyarra said snappishly. Seeing her sister's wounded expression, Lyarra was quick to apologise. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. Not today, anyway."

Sansa opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, she spotted something behind Lyarra that caused panic to mar her face. "Oh no, the king," she whispered, frightened. Lyarra looked behind her and spotted Joffrey. She threw her head back slightly and groaned. _Just her luck._

"Lady Sansa, dear aunt," he greeted them with a smug smile for each of the two Stark sisters.

"Your Grace," they greeted in unison, curtsying to the king.

"Imagine my surprise to find you two traitors huddled in a corner," Joffrey stated, looking delighted to have found them speaking together. He loved to punish people more than any other of his kingly duties. It seemed to Lyarra that Jaime had killed one mad king and fathered another.

"Not traitors, Your Grace," Lyarra corrected, earning herself a harsh glare from the king. "But rather the daughters of a traitor." As much as it pained her to insult her father like that, she knew the king would lash out if he wasn't given some sort of satisfaction.

"It doesn't matter," Joffrey dismissed with a wave of his hand. "You two are supposed to be separated lest you get any silly ideas. Defying my orders is treason. Or do you both have a death wish? What a pity it would be to leave my beloved cousin without a mother." He pinched Jon's cheek too harshly, causing Jon to sob. "Make him shut up!" the king commanded.

Lyarra tried to calm Jon by bouncing him on her hip, but because of his sore cheek and the glare Joffrey was giving him, Jon wouldn't calm down. "My apologies, Your Grace. I only wanted to wish Sansa well and congratulate her on her wedding."

He threw his head back and cackled. "Congratulate her? _On what?_ Marrying a dwarf – what a feat indeed!" Jon continued to cry. The king finally snapped, "Keep that child quiet or I swear to all the gods I will quieten him myself!"

She couldn't bring herself to reply. Her mouth was dry and her heart beat had quickened to an unnatural rate. She could handle her life being threatened, but the minute he threatened Jon's, Lyarra felt as though she couldn't breathe.

"It's alright, Lya," Sansa was the one ot speak. "You go and calm him." She gave Lyarra a reassuring smile.

Though she was reluctant to leave Sansa alone with Joffrey, Lyarra was genuinely afraid that Joffrey might hurt Jon if he continued to cry, so she curtsied to the king and gave Sansa one last pitiful smile before leaving them. She sat in her assigned place, beside where Lord Tywin was supposed to be, and pulled Jon onto her lap.

"He s-s-scares me," Jon sobbed into her chest.

"I know. I know," she replied, stroking his hair to soothe him. "He scares me too, but you have to be careful around him. No crying next time. No matter what he does or says."

"I c-c-can't help it," he hiccuped.

"I know," she responded, rubbing his back. "I know."

Just as she had succeeded in calming Jon, Joffrey appeared on the balcony. He clapped his hands, a terrifyingly delightful look on his face. When Joffrey was happy, it meant someone was going to suffer. "Time for the bedding ceremony!" he announced happily.

"There will be no bedding ceremony," came Tyrion's voice. He wore a tone that commanded no arguments, yet Joffrey was the king and delighted in arguing with anyone.

Joffrey grabbed Sansa's hand and dragged her down the stairs, towards the head table. "Where's your respect for tradition, Uncle? Come, everyone. Pick her up and carry her to her wedding bed. Get rid of her gown." He gestured to Sansa, grinning madly as Sansa crossed her arms over her chest in a futile attempt to protect herself. "She won't be needing it any longer. Ladies, attend to my uncle. He's not heavy."

Tyrion leaned over the table, still sitting, an enraged expression on his face as he repeated himself, "There will be no bedding ceremony."

The king was dancing on the balls of his feet, overly excited at the thought of humiliating both his former betrothed and his hated uncle with one bedding ceremony. "There will be if I command it."

Lord Tyrion grabbed the room's attention once again when he stabbed the table with a knife, shocking everyone including the king. He glared at Joffrey with such rage that it even frightened the king. "Then you'll be fucking your own bride with a wooden cock."

For the first time, Joffrey seemed to be shocked into silence. "What did you say?" he asked his uncle, his voice quiet with shock before he became enraged. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?!" The king was seething and panting with anger as he glowered at his uncle.

"I believe we can dispense with the bedding, Your Grace," Tywin called, trying to ease the tension. "I'm sure Tyrion did not mean to threaten the king."

As a variety of emotions flashed across Tyrion's face – anger, then reluctance, and then humour – Tyrion broke the tension when he started to laugh. He pointedly removed his hand from the handle of the knife, his laughter becoming louder and more merry. "A bad joke, Your Grace. Made out of envy of your own royal manhood. Mine is so small." He sat back and thrust out his pelvis, pouting as he looked down at the fabric hiding his manhood. "My poor wife won't even know I'm there."

"Your uncle is clearly quite drunk, Your Grace," Tywin said. Lyarra noticed that his expression displayed equal parts disgust and respect. Tyrion was obviously acting a lot drunker than he actually was.

"I am. Guilty." He took another sip of wine before getting up from his seat. "But– but it is my wedding night. My tiny drunk cock and I have a job to do." He stumbled down and smashed into a table, wiping his wine-stained mouth as he did so. He went to Sansa and gestured for her follow him out of the Great Hall. "Come, wife. I vomited on a girl once in the middle of the act. Not proud of it. But I think honesty is important between a man and wife, don't you agree? Come, I'll tell you all about it. Put you in the mood."

She watched Sansa and Tyrion leave the Great Hall, hearing Tyrion's little story on their way out. The silence that followed their exit didn't last long, and the Great Hall was soon filled with gossiping and laughter. Lyarra looked down at her son and noticed that Jon was fast asleep. She smiled and smoothed his hair out of his face, only looking up when she heard footsteps approaching her.

"I suggest you take your leave before Joffrey decides to protect his frustration onto a different Stark girl," Tywin warned.

Lyarra glanced towards the young king from the opposite end of the hall. He was chatting angrily to his mother, no doubt about what a disobedient letch his uncle was. Cersei was nodding in agreement, scarcely getting a word in. Lyarra turned her attention back to Tywin and nodded. She lifted Jon into her arms and carried him to their bedroom. Lyarra didn't bother getting dressed into her nightgown. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she was sound asleep.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So... next chapter is Jaime's return and Lyarra gets some bad news. I'm halfway through the chapter as it is so I'll be updating next Monday or earlier. Again, thanks for all of your reviews! I will appreciate them!


	20. Jaime's Return

**Author's Note:** So this is the first chapter of part three and, as the title states, someone comes home!

* * *

 **PART III**

 _the lady wolf of the westerlands_

* * *

 **Jaime's Return**

Only a few weeks after Tyrion and Sansa's wedding, Lyarra received a visit from the king.

She was brushing her hair at her vanity, lost in thought as she wondered how Sansa was faring. She hadn't gotten a chance to speak with her sister. Since the wedding, the Lannisters were keeping Sansa close. Perhaps they feared she would run away, unsatisfied with her marriage to Tyrion. From what Lyarra gathered, from gossip and from stealing a few looks at Sansa at gatherings, Sansa was a lot happier since her wedding. Tyrion seemed to be doing a good job at protecting Sansa.

Lyarra jumped as she heard rough knocking on her bedroom door. She caught Rhea's eye, her handmaiden looking as frightened as she was. "Take Jon to the other room," she told her. Rhea nodded and lifted Jon into her arms, fleeing the room that was supposed to be Jaime's solar.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Lyarra opened the door. She tried to hide the terror Joffrey caused her to feel and curtsied to the king, her head bowed in respect. "Your Grace, to what do I owe the honour?" It was no honour, to be true. Joffrey Baratheon was a curse.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement, Joffrey couldn't wait for her to step aside to allow him in and so he barged into her bedroom, grinning madly. "I have something great to tell you, dear aunt. Something that I know you will delight in."

Instead of inspiring delight, his words inspired fear. "Oh, what-"

Too excited to tell her the news, Joffrey didn't let her finish. "Robb Stark is dead!" he exclaimed gleefully.

It felt as though Joffrey had kicked her in the stomach. She felt numb. "What?"

"Robb Stark was murdered at the Twins – your bitch mother as well! Murdered by his own bannermen! Walder Frey had the northern army slaughtered. He got them too drunk to fight back!" Joffrey threw his head back and cackled. Lyarra stayed rooted to her spot, unmoving. She couldn't think. Her brain couldn't process what Joffrey was telling her. "Do you want to hear how they died?" Lyarra didn't answer. Joffrey became angry. "DO YOU?"

She didn't flinch. She couldn't move her lips. She tried to speak, to move, to do _anything_ , but she was frozen. Her arms wouldn't move, her mouth wouldn't allow her to form words... it felt as though her entire world had fallen apart.

Joffrey balled his hands into fists, forcing a grin onto his enraged face. "It doesn't matter. I'm going to tell you anyway. You have a right to know how they died, after all. How Robb Stark's own bannermen murdered him." His grin widened. Lyarra didn't respond. "Your brother was supposed to marry one of Frey's daughters, but he married a Volantene girl instead. Of course, proud Walder Frey wasn't happy about that. They were at your Uncle Edmure's wedding to one of Frey's daughters when Roose Bolton stabbed your brother in the chest while some Frey slit your mother's throat. Oh, and one of the Freys stabbed your pregnant good-sister in the belly, getting rid of Robb Stark's whore and his whelp in one go!" He chuckled again. "Then, they beheaded your brother and sewed his wolf's head on his body and tied him to his horse. I would have sold the Red Keep to have seen him. The great Robb Stark!"

As much as she tried, Lyarra couldn't get the image of her brother's mutilated body out of her head. How cruel were the Freys, the Boltons and the Lannisters to condemn a boy of barely nine-and-ten to such a horrible death? Joffrey watched her closely, waiting for her to say something.

"And then," he continued, stepping closer to her when it became clear she wasn't going to say anything, "they stripped your mother naked and threw her body into the river. What do you think of that, _Lady Lannister_?"

She licked her lips. Her legs felt weak, as though they were about to give in at any moment. She just wanted Joffrey to leave, so she could crawl into a corner and cry.

"Say something!" Joffrey roared, pointing a finger at her. Lyarra looked at him, shocked. She opened her mouth to speak, to say anything, but no words came out. She wanted to kill him. Lyarra had never been a vicious person. She never thought herself to be capable of murder. But in that moment, Lyarra knew that if she had a knife and if Jon was far away from King's Landing, she would have no problem with killing Joffrey Baratheon. In fact, she would relish the feeling.

"Never the matter," Joffrey said, stepping away from her. He laughed. "Perhaps you'll be more chatty when I present you and Sansa with your brother's head at my wedding feast. Would you like that? To see his rotting head one last time, surrounded by flies and being eaten away by insects?" She wanted to cry, yet her eyes and her lips were dry as she merely stared at Joffrey. His face became red as he shouted at her, "If you have no use for your tongue, I will cut it out!"

Lyarra flinched, finally able to move again, but she pressed her lips together in a firm line and narrowed her eyes at King Joffrey. He glared at her like she had taken something precious from him. _I am the one whose had everything taken from me. My father... my mother and brother... my pride... and he has the gall to get upset because I won't give him to satisfaction of crying in front of him?_ Not for the first time, Lyarra wondered what it would be like to choke him to death.

"I don't have time for this," Joffrey declared before giving her one last scowl. He stormed out of her bedroom, bumping into her shoulder on his way out.

As soon as she heard the door slam shut, Lyarra felt her knees give in and she fell to the floor, a loud wail leaving her lips as she sobbed for her mother and brother and the cruelty they had to face. Robb's own bannermen had betrayed them... her mother and brother were dead because Robb dared to love the wrong woman. Lyarra covered her mouth with her hand, trying to muffle her cries, but eventually she gave up. She had lost everything. Why should she have to hide her grief?

"My lady?" She looked up to find Rhea at the door that separated her bedroom from the solar. She held Jon in her arms.

"I-I don't want him to s-s-see me like this," Lyarra sobbed, wiping her eyes. It was no use trying to stop crying. Trying to not cry only made her cry louder and more intensely.

"Go on, Jon. Play in the solar," Rhea told him, giving him a soft push towards the solar. Jon looked between Rhea and Lyarra, a worried look on his face, before he did what he was told. Rhea sat down on the ground beside Lyarra and wrapped her arms around her mistress. "Oh, my lady, what's happened?"

Lyarra opened her mouth to tell her, but before she could speak she started sobbing again. She buried her face into Rhea's dress, wetting her handmaiden's clothes. "J-J-Joffrey just... he just t-told me... my mother and brother... they're d-d-dead!" Saying the words aloud made her feel worse. It hit her all at once. She would never see them again. She would never hear Robb's laugh or see her mother's smile.

"I'm so sorry, Lyarra," her handmaiden said, the first time she had ever addressed Lyarra informally. She rubbed Lyarra's back soothingly and whispered comforting words into her ear. They stayed like that for a full hour before Rhea asked, "How did it..."

Lyarra wiped her eyes and leaned back against the wall, feeling exhausted from all her crying. Her throat was sore and her mouth was very dry, yet she tried to speak. "My brother and his army were slaughtered by Walder Frey and Roose Bolton. My mother too. And at our uncle's wedding. They died at a fucking wedding! They couldn't kill him on the battlefield so they had to kill him in the most dishonourable way possible!"

"Whose they, my lady? Bolton and Frey?"

She laughed bitterly and shook her head. "No. The Boltons and the Freys are not powerful enough, not even with their combined might, to dare try to hold the North and the Riverlands alone without any outside help."

"What are you saying, my lady?" Rhea asked, though Lyarra knew that her handmaiden fully understood what she was implying. Rhea was a sharp girl, even if she pretended to be stupid and frivolous. Lyarra had began to trust her in the last few months. Something had changed in how Rhea acted and she had earned Lyarra's trust. She was freer with Lyarra now.

"Who benefits the most from my brother's death?" Lyarra asked.

"I don't..."

"With Robb dead, the war is over. I am the heir. My son has the strongest claim to the North through me. Lord Tywin is clever. He knows this." As always, Tywin Lannister was a hundred steps ahead of everyone else." Tears of rage gathered in Lyarra's eyes. Her own good-father had murdered her twin brother! She wanted to kill them all.

"You think that House Lannister had a part their deaths?"

Lyarra felt something inside of her irreversibly harden. "I know they did."

Later that day, Lyarra was summoned to Lord Tywin's solar. Her whole body felt stiff and numb as she walked into his solar, not bothering to greet him. She sat down in front of her good-father, well aware of Lord Tywin watching her closely and noticing her cold demeanour, before he put down his pen to observe her further.

"We received some news yesterday about Robb Stark and his mother," Lord Tywin said, his eyes narrowed as he gauged her reaction. "Before I tell you what it is, I want to make some things clear. How you react to this news will determine which side your loyalty truly lies – whether it be on the winning or losing side."

"I already know," Lyarra stopped him from telling her. She couldn't bear to hear the words come out of another Lannister's mouth. Tywin looked at her in surprise. "Your grandson told me. I am devastated and I will not allow you to make me feel as though I shouldn't be. My mother and brother were _murdered_."

Lord Tywin scowled at her. "That they were. But they were Starks, and you are a Lannister, whether you like it or not. Your duty is to House Lannister."

"Yes, it is. I know that," she assured him. She felt angry, hot tears well in her eyes. As much as she willed them away, her tears were as stubborn as she was. She let them fall down her cheeks. "My duty is to your house, to my son, but I still grieve for the family that _your_ house has taken from me."

"Watch your tongue, girl," Tywin warned, locking his hands in front of him.

"Or you'll what?" Lyarra snapped, tilting her head to the side mockingly. "Should I wear armour to his Grace's wedding? Is that how you wish to get rid of House Stark?" She scoffed and leaned back. Her mother used to scold her when she slouched, Lyarra remembered. Those memories were no longer laced with fondness, but rather grief.

His eyes became two slits of enraged, blazing green. "What are you implying, Lyarra?"

"You know what I'm _'implying,'_ " she snapped, her anger getting the better of her. She had never been one to lose control. If anything, she was more likely to cry than to snap, to break down in tears than to get angry, but she was sick and tired of always being polite and in control. "Lord Bolton and Lord Frey would not have the _gall_ to go against their liege lords if they didn't have some sort of security, some sort of arrangement."

"And you believe that arrangement was made with me," Tywin surmised. Had Lord Tywin not been so difficult to read, Lyarra would have thought he looked impressed.

"I know it," she said. "You're a craven."

"You know nothing," he replied. His voice was harsher now and no longer conversational. He wasn't discussing their deaths with her now, he was scolding her. Only a year ago, Lyarra would have cowered. But this man inspired too much hatred inside of her to make her afraid. "You and my daughter have the same flaw. You both over-estimate your intelligence."

"Then enlighten me," she prompted him.

"This war would have went on for years," Tywin claimed. "Thousands more would have died. We would have wasted all our gold on a useless war. Your son would have nothing to inherit. The great wealth we boast of today would be squandered, on a war that was won at a wedding."

"You already have no wealth to boast of," she said, her lips curling upwards in a slight smirk. "I know about the mines. They've run dry."

"As it stands, nobody outside of the Westerlands knows that. As long as we keep it that way, we are secure."

"It's all pretences with you." Tywin glared at her. Lyarra knew she should stop speaking, yet her mouth wouldn't comply. "Your lands. Your wealth. Your family. _Yourself_. The Great Lion of Lannister they call you, but you are nothing but a butcher, only you've managed to never get your hands bloodied by ordering somebody else to do your bidding."

Of all the rude things she'd said to him in that meeting, and some were quite horrible, none had caused him to get half as mad as her last statement. His eyes were blazing as he retorted, "I would like to remind you, _Lady Lannister_ , that you are no longer necessary to House Lannister. You've completed your one duty, your entire purpose as my son's wife. You've given House Lannister an heir. Everything else you have done is simply redundant. There are plenty of highborn, intelligent women who would do well as my son's wife."

And, _once again,_ Tywin Lannister had shocked her speechless. She licked her lips and took a few moments to gather herself. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I believe you've heard of the Rains of Castamere." Speechless, Lyarra nodded her head. "Then you know how I respond to insubordination. I do not need the headache of a quick-tempered, sharp-tongued daughter-in-law."

"Is that a threat, my Lord Hand?" Lyarra asked him, forcing herself to not sound scared, though her voice trembled.

"Yes," he deadpanned. "I will be lenient with you today because your rash tongue was no doubt caused by grief and sheer stupidity."

 _You stupid, stupid girl!_ She chastised herself for letting her anger and grief get the better of her. She had been so careful around Joffrey, Lord Tywin and the queen. She had honeyed and filtered her words to the point where she sometimes didn't recognise herself. And yet, in one conversation, she managed to anger the only Lannister in the Red Keep who had the power and the motive to protect her.

"Thank you, my lord," she replied. She sounded like a sheep, but if it kept her alive, she would gladly be a sheep.

Lord Tywin dismissed her with a wave. "You may leave." Lyarra nodded and tried to pull herself up from the chair. She rose to her feet shakily and started to walk out of his solar, her legs still shaking as she slowly stepped towards the door. _Almost there... two more steps..._ "Wait." Lyarra stopped and turned around, terrified that Tywin had changed his mind and had decided to punish her. "What is your name?"

"My name?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"Your name," he repeated impatiently. "What is it?"

"Lyarra," she answered, her eyes darting around the room and landing on anything but her good-father. When she did dare to look at him, after a period of silence, Lord Tywin raised his eyebrows, expecting her to continue. Lyarra sighed as she finally realised what he wanted her to say. "Lannister. Lyarra Lannister."

"Good," Tywin responded and started writing his letters again. "Now you may go."

* * *

"Mother?"

"Hmm?" Lyarra answered, half asleep.

"Why did you cried today?" Jon stated. Lyarra's eyes flew open, suddenly feeling very awake as a bout of shame came over her. She hated Jon seeing her like that, yet lately he seemed to be seeing her upset lately far more than she would have liked him to.

Lyarra brushed his brown hair from his face and gave him a sad smile. "I got some bad news. Don't worry about me, my love. I'm fine."

"What was it?"

Sighing, Lyarra debated whether she should tell him. He was too young to know about the war that raged between his father's family and his mother's. But at the same time, Lyarra wanted to tell him so he would know better than to trust the Lannisters. Eventually, she decided against telling him. There were other ways to keep him away from the Lannisters.

"It doesn't matter," she said again. "Would you like me to sing you a song?"

Jon nodded excitedly, forgetting all about what happened earlier that day. She sang him his favourite song. It was a northern song, one that her mother used to sing Lyarra to sleep with. _The Southern Flower,_ it was called. Her mother told her once, when she had a little too much to drink, that her father sang the song for her one night when he was very drunk and since then, it was her mother's favourite. Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled to get through the song without breaking down. She had cried enough for one day.

Having finally lulled him to sleep, Lyarra stared at Jon and smoothed his short, brown hair. He was everything to her. _He may carry the Lannister name, but he is my son and he is all Stark._ It was a small victory, but Lyarra took pleasure from the fact that the Lannister heir looked so similar to her father.

She was still wide-awake when she heard a knock on the door. Though the knocking was soft and not at all loud, the noise still startled her. No one ever called to her room this late. She began to panic. _What if it's the king?_ She remembered Lord Tywin's words. _'Before the king decides to take his frustrations out on a different Stark girl.'_ She grabbed the knife beneath her pillow and walked towards the door slowly, anticipating the worst. She would not go gentle.

When the person at the door knocked again, Lyarra jumped and took a deep breath to calm herself. Slowly, she opened the door.

Jaime.

Her fear was replaced by shock. She stared at her husband, eyes wide and shocked. He was far from the man she had said goodbye to in Casterly Rock. His face was unshaven, whereas he used to shave at least once every two days. His face was worn and bore many cuts and scars. Before, nobody had ever been able to land a cut on the great Jaime Lannister. Her eyes travelled down his body, noticing the bandage that covered his stump.

 _He has no right hand,_ she realised.

"My brother?" she asked, her eyes not leaving his stump. She would have thought Robb incapable of such cruelty, but war made monsters out of men.

"No," Jaime replied immediately. "A sellsword company called the Brave Companions. Their leader wanted to teach me a lesson." He glanced to the knife in her hand, his lips stretched into a tight smile that looked almost like a grimace. "My nephew?"

"Nephew?" she repeated, her tone laced in bitterness. Jaime's eyes widened. _Yes, that's right. I know that your sister is your lover and your nephews and niece are your children. I know everything now._ She took a deep breath and forced her anger to subside. Jaime had gone through enough hassle and pain without being yelled at by his wife as soon as he came home. "Yes," she said. "And those brutes he calls his kingsguard."

"Have they hurt you?" Jaime asked, his expression taut with worry.

"Not me," she replied. "Sansa. It has stopped now. Joffrey wants to impress his new queen-to-be."

"Who?"

Lyarra smiled sadly at him. "You've missed a lot." When she thought about it, Jaime had not only missed the birth of her son, but he had also missed Joffrey's crowning, her father's beheading, all of Sansa's beatings, the Battle of Blackwater... she wondered if he even knew about the Red Wedding.

"I have," Jaime agreed, bringing Lyarra's attention back to him and away from her thoughts that seemed to go a mile a minute. "Are you going to let me in?"

"Oh." His question startled her. For some reason, she hadn't thought he would want to come into her chambers that were, by right, his as well. "Yes, of course." She stepped aside and allowed him in, wringing her hands as the awkwardness of the situation hit her again. How was she to act with him? She knew everything now. She couldn't just accept him with open arms.

She watched him walk into their bedroom and noticed how his eyes lit up as he saw Jon in their bed. Lyarra had to smile at that. _Just tonight,_ she promised herself. _I will make myself forget, just for tonight._ She didn't have the heart to turn him away now, after all he had been through.

Jaime kneeled in front of their son, a wistful smile on his face. "You called him Jon."

"I did."

"A northern name," Jaime pointed out. At first, Lyarra thought he was mad at her and was about to scold her husband for being so insensitive... but then he flashed her a quick grin. Lyarra smiled back at him despite herself.

"We did agree," she said, biting her lip as she watched Jaime stare at their little boy. This was what she had wanted for so long. Why wasn't she happy? It felt as though there was some wall between them, a wall that she wanted to ignore for one night. Lyarra didn't think she could ignore it, not completely anyway.

"That we did." Jaime smiled. He brushed back Jon's hair, marvelling at how perfect their son was. "I can't imagine my father was very happy."

"No," Lyarra stated, a slow grin splitting her face in half as she remembered what Jaime had told a long time ago, when they were discussing what to name their unborn child. "But Lord Tywin doesn't have to be happy about everything."

Jaime smiled, getting her reference to a time where things were that bit simpler. "Wasn't Jon the name of your father's bastard?"

"My _brother_ , yes," Lyarra corrected. She felt more protective of Jon than ever, since he was now one of the few family members she had left. "I couldn't name him after Robb or my father. I couldn't be obvious."

"You're too clever for your own good, do you know that?" Lyarra gave him a small smile. The way Jaime was looking at their son, as though Jon was the most wonderful thing in the world, made Lyarra's heart flutter. "He looks like you."

Lyarra had to smile at that. "All I've heard in the last two years is how much he resembles my father. But I think he has your smile."

Jaime shook his head. "No. That's all you as well. You smile like that when you sleep."

"Really? I never noticed," Lyarra replied. "Well, how could I, I suppose." She paused and watched Jaime for a minute, seeing the longing in his expression, She couldn't imagine what it must be like for him, only meeting his son when Jon was two years old, having missed all of the milestones that made parenthood so special. "Would you like me to wake him?"

"No," he replied immediately and struggled to stand up. Lyarra only noticed then how weak he looked. He had lost weight. His arms, torso and legs were no longer as muscled as they once were. "I'll let him sleep. I can speak with him tomorrow. I think I'd like to get cleaned up first."

"I'll send for-"

He shook his head vehemently at that. "No. Don't. I don't want anyone knowing about _this_ -" he raised his stump "-just yet. I'm not ready," he added quietly. Lyarra was taken aback by his request, but she understood nonetheless. Jaime chewed on his lower lip, conflicted. "Would you...?"

A part of her, the part that was ruled by grief and pain, wanted to say no because of all the pain his house had caused her and how much learning about him and Cersei and their ' _relationship'_ hurt and disgusted her. But Lyarra had never been one to turn her back on someone that needed her. Even if Jaime and his family had hurt her in ways she never thought possible, it wasn't in Lyarra to turn him away.

"Of course I will," she replied.

She woke Rhea up and asked her to get two buckets of water and some bandages. As she was waiting for Rhea to return, Lyarra helped Jaime get undressed. He was too weak to stand and when he tried, he kept swaying. Lyarra pulled a stool over him.

Lyarra had only ever cleaned a baby's arse, but seeing that Jaime was too weak to do himself and because she was alarmed by how dirty the area was, Lyarra ignored her discomfort. When Rhea returned, Lyarra poured some of the water into the bath and cleaned his arse with a cloth. Jaime made a few comments to disguise his humiliation. Despite Lyarra's reassurances, Jaime felt he was sacrificing his pride by letting his wife clean him.

She helped Jaime into the bath and washed his stump before changing the bandages. "You had a maester look at this?"

"Yes. An incredible one actually. Qyburn."

As much as she hated being one of _those_ women, Lyarra couldn't look at Jaime with his beard. She left him alone in the bath for a few minutes and came back with a blade and a bowl of soap from the Free Cities. "I don't suppose you want to keep that beard of yours."

"Why? Does it not become me?" Jaime asked, tilting his head to the side as he grinned at her.

"Not really, no. To be frank, you look like a wild animal."

"I was thinking more like a lion."

"If you say so." Lyarra laughed "So, what is it to be?"

"Have you ever shaved a man before?" Jaime questioned, glancing between Lyarra and the blade in her hand with worry and distrust in his eyes.

Shrugging, she answered him nonchalantly, "No, but how difficult can it be?"

He took a few seconds to debate whether or not having a good shave was worth a few cuts. He stroked his beard in a way that made Lyarra laugh heartily. Grinning at his wife's reaction, Jaime laughed and agreed to let her shave him. "Alright. Go on."

Taking a deep breath, Lyarra brought the blade to his cheek after putting some soap on his face. She managed to successfully get rid of the hair on his face, although Jaime was left with a few more cuts than he had before she started. He became quiet all of a sudden. Lyarra looked at him, seeing pity etched on his face. She tried not to look at him again. She hated that look. She wanted to forget about her mother and brother, just for tonight.

"I'm sorry about what happened to your mother and brother," Jaime said. Although she was expecting him to say something like that, he had still startled her enough that Lyarra had to stop shaving him and compose herself again. The blade was mere inches away from his skin. If she wanted to, she could cut his throat. His life was in her hands. The thought made her feel empowered. _What am I thinking?_ she scolded herself for thinking such dark thoughts and pushed them aside. Jaime's face became taut with pity. "I truly am."

Lyarra nodded, tears filling her grey eyes as she tried to push her feelings aside. "Your father orchestrated it."

"I thought as much." When Lyarra was finished shaving him, Lyarra placed the blade on the table beside her. Jaime grabbed her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "You know that if I was here, I would have done anything to stop it. It was dishonourable."

She nodded again, staring at her legs. She wanted to be mad at him. To blame him for all his family did to hers. But he was all she had now – him and Jon and Sansa. She didn't even have Sansa, to be true. Sansa was in the same keep as she was, yet Lyarra had never felt so alone.

"He deserved better than to be slaughtered at a wedding," Lyarra said angrily, hot tears in her eyes.

"He did," Jaime agreed. He looked lost. He probably wasn't used to having to comfort crying women. Lyarra doubted that Cersei let herself be weak very often. "They both did. Your mother was a brilliant woman. Fierce and quite frightening when it came to her children. She made me promise to protect you. I plan to do just that."

 _Nobody can protect anyone,_ she wanted to tell him. Margaery promised to protect her as well, in return for her body and her pride. Lyarra trusted no one anymore. She pushed her thoughts aside and offered Jaime her hand. She helped him out of the bath and dried him before leading him to his bed in the adjoining bedroom.

"I think Jon would be startled if he saw you beside him tomorrow morning," she explained. She felt sorry for Jaime, seeing the hurt flash across his face.

He tried to hide it with a smile and a laugh. "I suppose he would." Lyarra helped him into bed. She didn't know what else to say, so she left him with one last smile and made to go to her bedroom. She didn't want Jon to wake up alone and frightened. Seeing that Lyarra was about to leave, Jaime grabbed her hand and pulled her back. "Stay with me."

Lyarra saw how conflicted Jaime looked. She knew him well, or the person he used to be at least. The war had changed him, just as it had changed her, yet Lyarra didn't think that a man like Jaime would expose such vulnerability if he didn't have good reason to.

She sighed and laid beside him. Jaime cupped her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers, his hand sliding down her leg. Lyarra swung her leg over his torso and mounted him. She found him hard already and hovered over the tip of his cock before lowering herself onto it.

Groaning, Jaime threw his head back in pleasure as Lyarra bounced on top of him. Her cunt was dry and she received no pleasure from their coupling, but she couldn't deny Jaime some sort of comfort. Jaime placed his hand on her hip and helped her keep her pace. He lasted a few minutes before he emptied himself inside of her.

He fell asleep with Lyarra by his side, but woke to an empty bed. When he went to look for her, he found her asleep with their son in the room beside his.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I was going to hold off posting this until Monday but I was just so excited to share this chapter because of Jaime's return! I hope I did it justice, I know a lot of you were excited for Jaime to come home!

So some of you might think Jaime got off easy, but I'm just going to explain Lyarra's thinking here if it's not clear in the last scene. Lyarra feels bad for Jaime because he's lost his hand and he looks really beaten down. She still hates what he did with Cersei and what her family did to hers, even to an irrational level, and Jaime's first night home is going to be his last free pass. He's going to have to do some serious making up with her in the next few chapters.

On to another note, the reason Lyarra isn't trying to escape is because she's literally surrounded by Lannister guards and watched day-and-night. Also if she leaves King's Landing with Jon, she's forsaking his right to Casterly Rock. Really her fear of Jon being hurt by the Lannisters is irrational and she knows that, she just gets panicked every now and then. Also she realises that her situation is temporary and that when Jaime comes home, her situation will greatly improve.

Just to address another issue that was brought up a lot in reviews, Lyarra will undergo some serious character development within the next, say, 5-10 chapters. I get that she might seem boring and weak at the moment, but Lyarra and Sansa are similar in that they have a survivor's mentality and don't have the means to fight back, so they stay quiet and do what they're told. You'll start to see a difference in the next few chapters as Lyarra starts to stand up for herself a lot more, but to be honest the major change in Lyarra's character will happen at the end of this arc and the beginning of the next. (Arcs in this story comprise of around ten chapters.)

Anyway, thanks to everyone for reviewing! Think we can get to 500 by the next chapter? ;)


	21. Price For Our Sins

**Price For Our Sins**

For so long, Lyarra had wished for Jon to meet his father. She used to think of Jaime as the piece missing from their little family. Now that he was here, waiting and willing to see his first-born _legitimate_ son, Lyarra felt the desire to keep Jon to herself. Perhaps it was selfishness, or bitterness, or somewhere in between, but she wasn't ready to let Jaime meet Jon.

But she couldn't keep a man from his son, so Lyarra bit her cheek as she dressed Jon in his adorably small doublet and trousers.

"There's someone in the other bedroom that you're going to meet today," Lyarra told him, forcing herself to look excited for Jon, a large, forced smile on her lips.

"Who is it?" Jon asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.

Lyarra chuckled and ruffled his brown hair. "I can't tell you that. It's a surprise!"

Jon's grin became wider. Lyarra had to smile at him. No matter how horrible she felt, Jon always managed to brighten her day. He was always so cheerful and happy. He rarely cried or complained about anything. To be honest, it worried Lyarra sometimes. She didn't think Jon was able to express his negative emotions.

Standing, she ruffled Jon's hair one last time, causing Jon to playfully pout at her, before she led Jon into Jaime's room. Jaime stood up as soon as he saw them walk in and looked at Jon like he was seeing him for the first time. Lyarra supposed that seeing Jon asleep and seeing him awake, with his bright smile and twinkling grey eyes, were two very different things in Jaime's eyes.

She knelt down beside Jon and told him, "This is your father."

"You're my father," Jon repeated, staring up at Jaime with a confused look on his face.

Jaime laughed and nodded his head. "I am. I'm your father." He glanced towards Lyarra, unsure. Lyarra gave him a smile in response. Even though she was still angry about everything that had happened – some of her issues were a lot less reasonable than others, she could admit to that – Lyarra wanted Jaime to get on well with Jon.

"You're just back?" Jon asked. Like all children, he was all too fond of asking questions.

"Yes," Jaime replied. "I was away for a very long time."

"Why?"

Unable to think of an answer, Jaime blinked in surprise and blanked for a few moments. "Silly reasons, really," came his reply. "None of it matters now. I'm back and I won't be going away for a very long time."

"Mama told me about you," Jon said.

Lyarra caught the worried look Jaime gave her briefly. She felt the urge to roll her eyes. _Does he truly think so badly of me? That I would poison my child against his father?_ Lyarra pursed her lips together and stayed quiet, biting back the bitter response she wanted to throw at him. No doubt Cersei poisoned her children against Robert. Then again, they weren't truly his children and the king was not their father.

"Did she now?" Jaime replied.

Jon nodded. "Yes."

"Good things, I hope," Jaime commented, giving a weak laugh.

"You were away fighting."

This time, he didn't bother to hide his worry as he looked at Lyarra warily. "I was," he admitted.

"Who?"

"Your mother didn't tell you?" Jon shook his head. Lyarra had to look away from Jaime. _Oh, what a conversation that would be to have with our two year old son!_ The situation was too complicated even for Lyarra to fully understand. "It doesn't matter anyway. It's all over now."

For a moment, Lyarra worried that Jon would push Jaime for an answer, but within less than a minute Jon had moved onto another topic. He pointed to Jaime's stump. "What's that?" he asked.

Jaime raised his stump to look at it, stuttering his response. "It's a, uh... _well_..." He looked to Lyarra for help. Bitter, she was tempted to let Jaime deal with this on his own. But, as always, she felt bad for him and intervened.

Taking a deep breath, she placed her hands on her son's shoulders. "Your father had an accident while he was away. It's, uh..." She looked at Jaime who nodded at her. Lyarra sighed. "He lost his right hand."

"Oh," Jon said, staring at Jaime's hand with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. Lyarra felt for Jaime then. She couldn't bear receiving that sort of look from her own child.

"It doesn't hurt," Jaime told their son. He cracked a smile like it was all just some great joke to him. "Not at all, actually. I don't feel a thing below my wrist."

She gave him an exasperated look. She had thought Jaime changed while he was away. Though he was twice her age, there were times when Lyarra had felt more mature than her almost-forty-year-old husband. The night he came back, Jaime seemed changed. His eyes weren't as mocking or full of amusement, like he was privy to some amazing secret the rest of the world had no clue about. It had irked her then and it irked her now. Seeing her annoyed look, Jaime merely shrugged in response, worsening her annoyance.

"You should get a hook," Jon suggested, his tone as cheerful as always.

"What?" Jaime asked, genuinely surprised.

"Like the pirate from the book." He turned around to look at Lyarra, a huge smile on his lips as he tugged at her sleeves. "Mama, you know it."

Lyarra chuckled, looking down at Jon fondly. Jaime glanced between them, lost. As horrible as it was, Lyarra enjoyed showing Jaime how much he had missed. He was a part of the reason this war started in the first place – him and Cersei and their disgusting relationship. As a result of his sins, he wasn't around for the first two years of his son's life. Perhaps she was being cruel – no, she _was_ being cruel, but she was done trying to uphold her morals and be a better person than the rest of them. It was easier to become one of them than stick to the morals her dead father had instilled in her.

"I know the one," Lyarra replied. "I don't think your father will be getting a hook any time soon."

"No," Jaime agreed, laughing. "Although, there has been talk of a golden hand."

"A golden hand?" Lyarra asked, shocked. Jaime nodded, a small smile on his lips. He too seemed to understand the ridiculousness of it. Lyarra would well believe it of the Lannisters. Jaime's crippling would serve as another excuse to show off their wealth.

"A hook would be better," Jon argued.

"Indeed it would. More practical." Jaime grinned. "But alas, your grandfather and aunt have insisted. I have to meet with Cersei and Maester Qyburn this afternoon." Lyarra scowled and caught Jaime's eyes darting towards her, seeing her displeasure. Lyarra didn't bother saying anything else or try to ease the tension. Instead, she stayed quiet and scowling as Jaime coughed to break the silence. "I should like to break our fast together. What do you like, son?"

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Jon grinned up at his father. "Lemoncakes!"

"Lemoncakes?" Jaime chuckled. "Very well. I'll have the cooks make you half a dozen of them, what do you say?"

"No," Lyarra objected immediately as Jon eagerly nodded. "He'll get sick. You can have lemoncakes after dinner." Jon pouted petulantly. Unlike Jaime, Lyarra was able to put his health above making him happy. The last time Jon ate a lot of lemoncakes, he was kept up by an upset stomach and spent his night vomiting in a chamber pot. Lyarra was not going to give into him. As his mother, she knew best. Seeing that he was not going to get his way, Jon huffed and stormed away.

"I never pegged you for a killjoy," Jaime replied, looking cross. "You could not have let my first meeting with my son be a happy one?"

"He has a sensitive stomach," Lyarra defended. If Jaime thought he could storm into their lives and control everything, he was going to be unpleasantly surprised.

Jaime scoffed. "One morning. That's all I wanted. One morning where I could establish a good relationship with my son, but of course, you could not possibly let that happen."

Frowning, Lyarra watched her husband as he scowled at her, trying to dissect his meaning. "What do you mean by that?"

"You have had him all to yourself for the last two years. For all that time, it has only been the two of you." His tone became softer and gentler, like he was afraid of upsetting her. Lyarra would have preferred him to yell at her. _I am not the same sensitive girl you left at Casterly Rock, ser,_ she wanted to tell him. Instead, she settled for scowling. "I mean that you are not accustomed to having someone else to share the responsibility with. But I'm here now, Lyarra. Let me share it."

 _Responsibility?_ Lyarra wanted to scoff. Jaime had never taken on an ounce of responsibility in the time she knew him. "I 'had him all to myself' because you had to go to war against my family and get captured," Lyarra snapped.

"Yes, because that was my motive," Jaime replied heatedly, his face twisting with anger. "As though I was so willing to get captured by your brother and sit in my own shit for months." Lyarra pressed her lips together and seethed silently. "Is that the real problem here?"

"What?"

He softened. "That I was not here."

At first, his words made her blink in surprise. The answer that first came to her lips was yes, you should have been here. Why weren't you here? But she had more pride than that. She laughed shortly and derisively. "You flatter yourself, ser. I did just fine on my own."

Because she knew him well, Lyarra was well aware that her words had hurt Jaime, though her husband did not show it. But no matter how well he schooled his expression, Jaime's eyes said it all. "Come. Perhaps eating will silence you." Lyarra scoffed. Jaime ignored her and joined their son in the dining room. Lyarra hadn't even moved when she heard him telling the maid to get them a dozen lemoncakes.

Lyarra balled her hands into fists. She pushed back her feelings and joined them in the dining room, seeing Jon grin at Jaime while Jaime grinned back. Hearing her enter the room, Jaime turned around and grinned at her next. Lyarra bit her tongue and ignored how her stomach twisted angrily in response.

* * *

The mind-numbing chatter of Margaery and her ladies completely went over Lyarra's head. Her own thoughts were far away and focused on her husband. _He left me. He loves Cersei. He hurt Bran._ Though she was not sure yet, suspicion was enough to make her blind with rage at the mere thought of Jaime harming her little brother.

 _Who am I kidding? I know well what he did to Bran._ Lyarra prided herself on being clever, yet here she was, trying to poke holes in a theory she knew was fact. Jaime – or Cersei – had pushed Bran from that tower. If Jaime did it, then he tried to kill her little brother and lied to her about it. If Cersei did it, then Jaime lied to her and was covering for his sister-lover.

She loved Bran. She truly did. She loved Rickon too. But they were both dead now. She loved them and grieved for them, but they were dead and she was alive. Her son was alive. Didn't Jon deserve to grow up knowing that his parents didn't hate each other? She wanted to forget what Jaime did. That would make it that much easier to forgive him.

But every time she looked at Jaime, he reminded her of what he did to Bran, of his relationship with his twin sister, of everything his family did to hers... No matter how hard she tried to ignore the anger the mere sight of his face triggered within her, Lyarra was never successful. But she wanted to forgive him, not because he deserved it, but because they were going to spend their lives together. She didn't deserve a life of anger, resentment and hatred, and Jon didn't deserve to have parents who despised each other.

So Lyarra agreed to try and nothing more. Perhaps eventually, she could learn to live with him. Until then, she wasn't going to go out of her way to be a good wife.

Margaery, noticing Lyarra's aloofness, told the musician to play louder, the same trick she had used the first time they met in the Maidenvault. "What's wrong, my dear?"

"Nothing, Margaery," she replied. Margaery shot her a disbelieving look that made Lyarra concede, sighing. "Jaime's home," was her simple response.

"I thought you would be happy to have him home," Margaery whispered. "Look, I did my best to keep Joffrey away from you and your sister, but I can only exert so much influence over him. Ser Jaime, however, is a Lannister. I think Joffrey is afraid of him."

"Truly?"

She nodded. "Oh yes. I saw them together today. Joffrey wasn't as horrible and bratty as his usually is. Well, when I say he was afraid, I mean as afraid as he can be. But he did restrain himself around Ser Jaime. I don't think Joffrey is stupid enough to hurt you in any way when Jaime is around."

"But what about Sansa?" Lyarra asked. Jaime might protect her, but he had no obligation to Sansa.

The future queen cracked a smile. "Despite his stature, I believe Lord Tyrion is more than capable of defending Sansa against Joffrey. For some reason, I think Joffrey is afraid of him as well."

"Because Lord Tyrion is not afraid of Joffrey and that makes Joffrey wary of him," Lyarra spoke her thoughts aloud. Joffrey was so used to everyone quaking in terror when he spoke to them, that when Tyrion was unabashedly frank with the young king, it scared Joffrey.

"Nevertheless, I think the both of you are safer here than you've been in a long time," Margaery said. "But know that I'll still do all I can for you and Sansa. As I said before, cruelty, when inflicted unnecessarily, sickens me more than anything. I like you, Lyarra, and your sister. I hope we'll remain friends after this."

"Of course," Lyarra replied, wondering if Margaery would be so stupid as to continue their little affair.

Naturally, Margaery read her mind. "That being said, we must end our liaison before I wed the king. Now that your husband is home, there is more of a risk."

Lyarra nodded in agreement. "Jaime would not be happy if he ever found out about us."

"It isn't worth the risk. I enjoyed our time together, my dear, but not enough to lose my head – or worse, my queenship," Margaery replied, a saccharine smile on her lips.

 _But if you do not have a head, how can you hope to wear a crown?_ Lyarra was beginning to doubt Margaery's priorities. She said nothing more and continued her needlework quietly until the opportunity came for her to leave. She curtsied to Margaery and said farewell to the other ladies, hoping that now Jaime was home, she would not have to spend as much time with them.

She spent that evening in their quarters. Jaime hadn't come home yet, which meant he was still with Cersei getting his new golden hand fitted. Ignoring the unsettling feeling she got from thinking about the two of them together, _alone_ , Lyarra sat down on the floor with Jon and spent that afternoon playing with him.

By the time Jaime returned to their quarters, it was already sundown. Lyarra spotted his golden hand first and held back a scoff. Not only was the hand crafted from pure gold, it was engraved beautifully, like a fine piece of art or a sculpture. It must have cost House Lannister a fortune.

"Naturally," Lyarra remarked. This time she was unable to hold back a scoff. Jaime didn't say anything as he poured himself a glass of wine, but wore a confused expression on his face. Lyarra elaborated. "This new hand is even finer than the old one."

"If only I could use a sword with it," Jaime deadpanned, sipping his glass of wine, "Or even pick up a sword with it. All this hand is good for is waving." Jaime waved at her. Jon giggled as he shoved the head of his wooden soldier into his mouth. Lyarra looked at her husband blankly, causing Jaime to huff at her. "What is your problem?"

"I don't have a problem. I never have a problem," she muttered as she gently pulled the wooden soldier out of Jon's mouth.

Jaime scowled, becoming irritated with her. "Quit the shit-talking, Lyarra. Spit it out."

Lyarra glared at him. If she wanted to stay mad at him, she would. It was well within her rights to be angry at him for everything he'd done to her and her family. "No," was her response.

"No?" Jaime repeated, somewhat surprised at her frankness.

"No," Lyarra repeated firmly. No doubt Jaime wasn't used to being told no. He was the son of the richest man in Westeros after all. He was used to people bending over backwards to give him what he wanted. Lyarra used to do the same when they were first married. She feared his anger then, now she welcomed it.

His face twisted with anger before he let out a huff. "Have it your way," he said before storming off, leaving her and Jon alone again.

* * *

Jaime looked at the boar, feeling his stomach twitch in disgust. He had eaten breakfast today at least, and even that had been difficult. He hadn't been fed well as a prisoner and his ill-treatment rendered him with a much smaller appetite. The food in King's Landing was covered with spices and salts and tasted far too strong for someone who was used to eating meat fresh from a fire.

When he looked up from the table, he saw Tyrion watching him with a thoughtful expression. "Your new hand, it's nicer than the old one. Wouldn't you agree, Pod?" Tyrion asked his nervous squire.

The squire turned to Jaime. "Is it solid gold?" he questioned, something Podrick had no doubt been wondering for a while.

"Gilded steel," Tyrion answered for Jaime, seeing that Jaime was reluctant to speak. "You're not eating. Why is no one eating?" Tyrion started cutting into his meat fervently. "My wife wastes away and my brother starves himself."

"I'm not hungry," Jaime replied.

Tyrion put down his fork and knife for a moment and leaned closer to Jaime. "You lost a hand, not a stomach." He pointedly took a bite of the boar on his plate. "Try the boar. Cersei can't get enough of it since one killed Robert." Like a good squire, Podrick took that as a hint and offered Jaime some boar. Jaime shook his head, much to Tyrion's frustration. "A toast," Tyrion said, raising his glass. "To the proud Lannister children. The dwarf, the cripple, and the mother of madness. Oh, and how could we forget our proud father? The force behind the murder of our wives' families."

Jaime didn't move to raise his glass and settled on giving his brother a strained grimace in response. Perhaps his father was the reason his wife despised him. Jaime had considered it to be a factor, but he didn't think Lyarra was a bitter enough person to hold his father's monstrosities against Jaime himself.

"How's Sansa?" Jaime asked, aware of the silence that had fallen upon them. He didn't like how Tyrion looked at him when he went silent, like his brother knew exactly what he was thinking. Jaime found it unsettling.

His brother sat back in his seat and wiped his mouth. "She doesn't eat or sleep. She spends all her time in the godswood."

Despite himself, Jaime felt a small laugh claw its way up his throat. At Tyrion's confused expression, Jaime elaborated. "Ned Stark used to spend an awful lot of time at the godswood. The day he arrived with his family at Casterly Rock, he asked me to show him where the nearest godswood was. I find it ironic how similar they all are. Prayer might be helping her."

Tyrion pointed his fork in Jaime's direction. " _That_ was what I thought. Sansa said she only goes to the godswood so people would leave her alone." Jaime chuckled quietly at that. He could hardly blame the girl. Receiving condolences from the same people who celebrated her family's death was probably not a very enjoyable experience. "How's your wife?"

All humour drained from his face at the mention of his wife. Jaime scoffed. "She despises me. It's been a month and she can hardly look at me." Just that morning, Lyarra had managed to not say so much as a word to him. Jaime had to credit her for her ability to ignore the very man that slept in the room beside hers.

"Give her time," Tyrion advised. Jaime looked away, fighting the urge to scoff again. He thought one month was more than enough time. "Our family murdered hers. I imagine she wants to murder us as it stands."

"How comforting," he remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. The thought of his wife wanting to kill him in his sleep did not sit well with him.

"She will come around eventually," Tyrion assured him.

"How long is eventually?"

Smiling ruefully, Tyrion raised his glass to him. "What's the rush, brother? Marriage is for life, is it not?"

He wanted to thank Tyrion for reminding him of that. Tyrion was so sure that things would get better between them, but Tyrion had never been on the receiving end of Lyarra's ire, of her hostility. Ned Stark had been a cold man. He used to consider Lyarra to be a lot warmer than her father, perhaps more like her mother. She was compassionate and loving when she wanted to be. Jaime remembered the night he came back, when Lyarra had taken care of him and done things for him that very few women would have done willingly. Jaime would have never thought Lyarra capable of such hostility and coldness, even towards him. Perhaps she was more like her father than he thought.

Frowning, Jaime went to grab his glass of wine with his right hand, forgetting that a golden hand had replaced his flesh. He knocked over his glass and spilled wine on the floor. Cursing under his breath, he looked at the floor at the damage as Tyrion's squire made to help him.

"I'll clean it up," the boy stated.

"No, I'll do it. Leave us," Jaime commanded harshly. He felt bad for being so short with the boy, but Jaime would be damned if he let himself be treated like a child. He made this mess, he could damn well clean it up.

"It's only wine," Tyrion said and pointedly poured wine from his glass and onto the table. He hopped off his chair and went over to Jaime to pour him another glass of wine.

"I can't fight anymore," Jaime admitted quietly. He was that hand. That hand defined him. His ability with a sword defined him. Now he was just some useless lord, like all the rest of them.

Tyrion glanced at Jaime's golden hand as he poured wine into the glass. "What about your left?"

Jaime shook his head. "I can hold a sword, but all my instincts are wrong. How am I supposed to protect my family and defend our house when I can hardly wipe my own arse?"

"You don't need to use a sword," Tyrion pointed out as he sat back down. "You're a lord. A battle commander. Command. Let others do the fighting. When was the last time Father used a sword?"

"I'm not Father. I'm the Kingslayer. When people find out I can't slay a pigeon..."

"Train, then," Tyrion suggested like it was the most simple thing in the world. "Learn to fight with your other hand."

"With whom?" Jaime scoffed. "You? Men talk. Soon as someone discovers I can't fight, he'll tell everyone."

His brother became thoughtful as he sipped his wine. "You need a proper, discreet swordsman. As it happens, I have just the one."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So, some of you might have noticed I may a few, eh, hiccups in the last chapter. I've gone back and corrected those and I think they're all sort. Thanks to everyone who pointed them out. It's just so easy to forget that Jaime only has one hand now (even though it's one of his defining traits at this point... but hey, I have a head like a sieve.)

Another thing- I never addressed Bran and Rickon's death. GRRM does this in the book with Sansa, where he doesn't show her reaction because it would be repetitive and because her chapters are already depressing enough. In the past few chapters, Lyarra's been really depressing to write and read, I know that, so I didn't want to add another depressing scene on top of that. That doesn't mean she doesn't know about Bran or Rickon or that she doesn't care... I'm just trying to cut down on the crying scenes.

As for Lyarra being mad at Jaime, I'm getting a mixed response when it comes to whether or not she has a right to be mad at him. This is how I'm going to explain the situation- Lyarra has just lost her mother and brother and isn't in the right frame of mind. She might have had affairs with people while he was gone, but in her mind Jaime has indirectly caused the deaths of her family because he fathered Joffrey on his sister and, effectively, caused the war. The main thing, however, is that she believes he crippled Bran and, while she is trying to push that aside so she can have a stable marriage and family, that's a pretty difficult thing to suppress. You can disagree with that and perhaps Lyarra seems a little hypocritical, but that's Lyarra's view on the situation at the moment.

Also, a big huge thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, we got to 500! Just to let you guys know if you're interested, I posted a trailer for this story on Youtube. I'm not sure how links work on this site but if you search something like "Bound By Duty fanfic trailer jaime/oc game of thrones" it should come up.

Anyway, I'd love to hear what you think!


	22. Never Let Me Go

**Never Let Me Go**

He spent the rest of the day practising with Bronn, Tyrion's sworn shield who had saved him from Lysa Tully's wrath at the Vale. Bronn was a skilled fighter, but a dishonourable one. He didn't allow Jaime any leniency just because Jaime was a cripple. Despite his wounded pride, Jaime liked that the sellsword didn't treat him any differently.

When he entered his chamber that night, he found his wife asleep with Jon on her lap. They were seated by the fire, the only sound in the room being the crackling fire and Jon's soft snoring. Jaime smiled as he watched them. While he was in captivity, the thought of his son was what kept him going. Jon and Cersei, as ashamed as that was to admit. His commitment to his wife and to upholding what little honour he had left wasn't enough to rid him of the love he bore his sister. He would always love Cersei. He could resist her and he could ignore his feelings, but he would always love her.

As though sensing that he was in the room, Lyarra's eyes flittered open. She looked confused at first, before her eyes narrowed into slits without her even realising. Jaime sighed. He preferred looking at her when she was sleeping.

Seeing that she wasn't going to be the one to speak first, Jaime coughed and broke the silence. "I had dinner with Tyrion. I won't be eating with you and Jon tonight." Lyarra nodded, staying silent. Jaime knew that the tension between them was going to drive him mad, so he tried again. Bustling around the room as he got ready for bed, he continued to speak. "I plan to train my left hand. Tyrion has offered his sworn sword to be my sparring partner."

"Good on him," Lyarra replied coldly.

Jaime could see only red. "How long is this going to last?" He tried his best to keep his calm. For the last month, he had given her space and he had been understanding. He was sick of being treated like he had done something horrible.

Glaring at him, Lyarra scoffed and had the nerve to look confused. "What's this?"

" _This_ ," he hissed. "You know damn well what I am referring to. This... hostility. I've been home for a month, Lyarra. How long more?"

The fire in her eyes died as she retreated into herself. "I don't know," she admitted quietly. "However long it takes."

"To achieve what?" He laughed sarcastically. "Do you wish to kill me with silence?" Lyarra didn't respond. Jaime wondered if that was what she actually planned to do. The thought made him huff. "What do I have to do to earn your forgiveness? Tell me. I'll do anything. Just tell me what I did." He saw tears well in her eyes. _She's just a girl,_ he thought to himself, his heart twisting. Sometimes he forgot how young she was.

"I'm with child," she blurted out, her voice trembling.

He blinked in surprise. _That_ was what she had been so upset about? He felt a smile growing on his lips. He was going to have another child. This time, he could be present for the birth. "That's it?" he asked, bewildered but delighted.

"Of course that's not it!" Lyarra exclaimed. Jaime remembered how unreasonable and consistently angry Cersei had been when she was with child. Lyarra had been the same when she was pregnant with Jon, blowing up over everything. He remembered one time when Lyarra started crying over a battle strategy because it was horribly described in the book they were reading. A good husband would have comforted her. Jaime, however, laughed so hard that he had to double over.

Jon stirred in his sleep because of Lyarra's outburst. Jaime sobered as he thought of another reason why Lyarra might be upset. He narrowed his eyes at Lyarra accusingly. "Is the child mine?" he asked.

"What are you implying?" Lyarra hissed, anger stark in her eyes.

"Is the child mine?" he repeated. Cersei had panicked over being pregnant with Jaime's children and not the king's, even though she did it three times. He saw anger flash across Lyarra's face but continued anyway. He would not be cuckolded like Robert was. "It's a simple enough question. We've only slept together once since I came back and you've been of a strange humour these past few weeks. It's a reasonable concern."

Lyarra took a few moments to calm herself. When she spoke, her tone was as cold as winter. "You may have a skewed moral compass, but I assure you that I do not. The child is yours."

Jaime felt himself becoming angry again. "Then what's the damn problem?" he spat at her.

"I _know_ , Jaime."

His heart stopped, his head whirled, and he could do nothing but stare at his wife as she gave him the most disgusted look he had ever seen upon someone's face. Her grey eyes were judging him. Not for the first time, he noticed her resemblance to her father. _Of course she knows,_ he thought, _does everyone not know by now?_ The one woman he wished to never know the truth... Jaime felt sick to his stomach. "I..."

"I don't want an explanation," she cut him off immediately. "I don't want to ever speak about it. All I want is time. Can you give me that?"

Jaime nodded, his mouth was too dry to speak. Lyarra picked up Jon and left Jaime alone in his solar. The same two words echoed through his head. _She knows. She knows. She knows._

* * *

"You wanted to see me," Jaime announced himself as he walked into his father's solar.

His father looked up from his desk and fixed Jaime with a cold look. Jaime hadn't expected anything else. After all, his father wasn't known for being loving or affectionate. Even with his family, he was cold and tactical, treating them as though they were just pawns in his game. Jaime hated it, yet he loved his father and he knew his father loved him.

"Yes," Tywin replied eventually. "Your wife is pregnant again."

"She is," Jaime answered, even though it wasn't a question.

"I'm glad to hear it," his father's voice boomed. Jaime dared to detect a hint of pride in his father's tone. "You've provided a son and now another on the way. You've done your duty to our family. I'm proud of you."

To think, fathering children was the sum of his achievements in his father's eyes. Had he truly done nothing else that was worthwhile? Jaime scoffed. "Is that my only function now? Breeding?" Jaime tried to cover how much his father had offended him and masked his hurt with a small laugh.

Tywin found no humour in Jaime's words. He fixed Jaime with an even colder stare. "Until you find another skill that benefits your family, yes."

 _You don't care about family,_ Jaime wanted to spit at him, _you only care about your damn legacy!_ If he cared about family, he would have let Jaime remain in the Kingsguard. If he truly cared about family, he wouldn't have treated Tyrion like he was a piece of dirt, or force Cersei to marry that pillow-biter Loras Tyrell. If he cared about them at all, he wouldn't force them to do things they abhorred.

Jaime pushed those thoughts aside and grimaced. "Wonderful," he replied. _I am no more than a horse to him, only good for breeding little foals._

His father watched him for a few moments longer. "Come," he beckoned after a while. "I have something to show you." Jaime approached his father's desk as Tywin took something out of the shelf beneath the surface of his desk.

He produced a sword – no, to a swordsman as distinguished as Jaime, it was more than a sword. It was _glorious_ , a sword of black steel with beautiful ripples ruining through it, as though it was forged from black ice. Jaime took the sword from his father and examined it, eyes alight with wonder. All his life he had wanted to wield a sword made from Valyrian steel. He was envious of men who got the chance to fight with a Valyrian steel sword, Ned Stark and Jeor Mormont to name a few.

"Magnificent," Jaime commented, not taking his eyes away from the sword. His father gave a short mumble of agreement as he watched Jaime. Running his fingers along the steel, Jaime noticed that it still felt hot. "Looks fresh-forged."

"It is," his father responded.

That didn't make sense to Jaime. Only the Valyrians knew how to make Valyrian steel and shape it into swords, and the Valyrians were all dead now. "No one's made a Valyrian steel sword since the Doom of Valyria," he pointed out.

"There are three living smiths who know how to rework Valyrian steel," Lord Tywin replied. "The finest of them was in Volantis. He came here to King's Landing at my invitation."

Of course, Jaime knew he wasn't the only Lannister who desired a sword made from Valyrian steel. His father desired a Valyrian steel sword as much as, if not more than, Jaime did. For years, Tywin had been trying to get the great houses of Westeros to gift him their Valyrian steel swords and in return, he would cancel all their debts to House Lannister. Not one house agreed.

After examining the sword for a little longer, Jaime asked his father, "Where did you get this much Valyrian steel?"

The left-hand corner of his lip turned upwards in a tiny smirk. "From someone who no longer had need of it."

Ned Stark. The man had owned the largest Valyrian steel sword in Westeros. Jaime couldn't get his head around how a man of average height could wield such a huge weapon, yet Stark had managed. Jaime wondered how he was going to tell Lyarra. She wouldn't be happy with him owning her dead father's sword, the sword that was taken from him by Joffrey before he cut off Stark's head. Then again, Lyarra was never happy with him lately. At least he could give her a valid reason to be angry with him this time.

Jaime breathed heavily through his nose and placed the sword on the table. "You've wanted one in the family for a long time."

"And now we have two," was his father's reply.

"Two?"

His father sat down at his desk. "The original weapon was absurdly large. Plenty of steel for two swords."

"Well, thank you," Jaime said. "It's glorious."

"You'll have to train your left hand," his father pointed out, giving Jaime a steely look.

Shrugging, Jaime tried not to look too worried. His training with Bronn wasn't going too well at the moment. He was beginning to doubt that he would ever be able to fight decently again. "Any decent swordsman knows how to use both hands."

"You'll never be as good," his father stated.

At that, Jaime bristled. "No," he admitted. "But as long as I'm better than everyone else, it doesn't matter."

For a short while, his father said nothing and merely stared at him, eyes narrowed, before his face became wrinkled with lines of humourless laughter. "You have no need to fight anymore. You're my heir. You'll return to Casterly Rock and rule in my stead."

" _You_ are the Lord of Casterly Rock," Jaime told his father, as though Tywin needed reminding.

" _I_ am the King's Hand," Tywin answered immediately. "My place is here. I don't expect to see the Rock again before I die."

Jaime was speechless. He had expected to be carted off to the Rock, but he hadn't expected it to happen so quickly. Even though he swore not to dishonour Lyarra by being with Cersei, he still needed to be with twin, just for a little longer. Being away from her made him feel empty.

He hid his shock and worry with a chuckle. "Do you honestly believe that I'm capable of ruling the Westerlands? I'll run it to the ground and you know that."

"Your incompetence isn't a joke, Jaime," his father replied, his voice and expression were stern. "I tried to teach you how to rule, when you were boy and when Robert removed you from the Kingsguard. If you haven't learned by now, you never will. Your wife is capable enough and, if needs be, she can rule for you."

He scoffed. "What kind of a man has his wife rule for him?"

His father narrowed his eyes and fixed Jaime with another glare. "A man who has wasted his life away serving as the bodyguard to two undeserving kings. We're done speaking about this. Go on. Take your leave."

Rooted to the spot, Jaime was at a loss for words. He stared at his father, mouth slightly agape, and felt the urge to stand his ground, to stand up for himself for once. To tell his father that he was done being treated like a lap dog, brought to heel whenever it suited him. His father met his eyes and silenced any and all argument within him. Jaime inclined his head towards his father and took his leave, seething silently.

* * *

As Lyarra returned from the Maidenvault, having spent her day sewing with Margaery and her ladies, she spotted a large woman dressed in armour turning around a corner, disappearing from Lyarra's view. She realised who the woman was immediately. Quickening her pace, she gathered her skirts in her hands as she rushed to catch up with the female knight.

Knowing that she would no doubt get in trouble for speaking with her mother's former sword shield, Lyarra grabbed Brienne's hand and pulled her into a corner. Panic spread across Brienne's face, but her expression evened when she saw who it was. Lyarra placed a finger to her lips to quieten Brienne.

"Lady Lyarra, I-"

"I heard you served my mother," Lyarra whispered, her tone hushed so no one would hear them. "You must understand, I had to speak with you. I'm sorry to have frightened you."

Brienne's smile calmed Lyarra. "It is no problem, my lady. Truly. I was meaning to speak with you as well."

"I have so many things to ask you," Lyarra said, a sad smile coming upon her face as a thousand questions whirled through her head. She settled on one. "How was my mother? After my father died and Bran and Rickon..." She swallowed and licked her lips. "Was she well?" She didn't know why it mattered to her. After all, her mother was dead now, but it mattered to her all the same.

Obviously not expecting her to ask that, Brienne blinked in surprise. She answered Lyarra nonetheless. "Lady Stark was a strong woman. She bore her grief well."

"Of course she did," Lyarra replied, laughing fondly. "My mother was made of stone, yet she loved us all fiercely. I admired her."

"As did I," Brienne admitted. "Before I met your mother, I considered women who conformed to tradition to be weak and easily led. Lady Stark was anything but. You remind me of her, my lady."

She felt tears welling in her eyes. She pushed them away, cursing herself for being so frail. "Thank you, Lady Brienne," Lyarra said.

"Just Brienne," she corrected.

Lyarra smiled at her. "Well, thank you, Brienne," she repeated.

"Don't thank me, my lady. I failed your mother," Brienne replied, her head bowed slightly in shame. "Just as I failed Renly before her. But I will not fail you. I promise to protect you and defend you until the day I die. My sword is yours. My life is yours. If you will have me?"

As Brienne lowered herself onto one knee and laid her sword before Lyarra, the eldest Stark stared at Brienne blankly. She remembered men swearing oaths to her father. He made those sort of things look so simple. Lyarra never thought of noting what he did.

"I don't know how these things go," she admitted. "But you honour me, Brienne. Of course I will have you."

Brienne gave her a small smile and stood up again, sheathing her sword. "Ser Jaime swore an oath to your mother before she released him at Riverrun. He swore to return your sisters to Winterfell and never raise arms against Houses Stark or Tully ever again. She sent me with him to ensure that he keeps his promise. I intend to do just that."

Lyarra blinked in surprise. "He didn't tell me," she admitted quietly. Why would he keep something like that from her?

"We will get your sisters to safety," Brienne swore to her again, her voice was so certain that Lyarra almost believed her. She was wary when it came to trusting in people's promises. Loyalty was fleeting. "Sansa, at least," Brienne added, her tone a little quieter.

"Thank you, Brienne," Lyarra replied. "Again. I'm glad to have finally spoken with you."

"And I you, my lady," she responded before bowing and taking her leave.

She wondered what else Jaime was keeping from her. She was becoming as paranoid as Cersei and she hated it. Pushing those thoughts aside, Lyarra started to walk towards her quarters. As soon as she opened the door, she saw Jon running towards her. The mere sight of him brightened her day.

Chuckling, Lyarra crouched down and opened her arms for him. He wrapped his arms around as she hoisted him into the air and onto her hip, grinning at her little boy. "How was your afternoon, sweetling?"

"Good," he replied, casting his eyes downwards as a sad look came upon his face.

"Oh, what happened?" Lyarra asked, her stomach twisting with worry. She sat on the edge of the bed and placed him on her lap.

"Septa Yselle made me do letters all day," he said, his eyes welling with tears.

"Letters?" she repeated. Jon nodded. "I didn't tell her to start that with you. But that doesn't explain why you're upset." Jon bit his lower lip and looked away from her. Sighing, Lyarra cupped his chin and turned his face towards her. "You can tell me. I won't be mad."

"Septa... h-hurt me," Jon said, a sob caught in his throat.

"What?" Lyarra asked, trying to mask the anger boiling within her. Her own septa had hit them when they misbehaved, but neither Septa Mordane or their wet nurses ever hit them when they were Jon's age. "Why? Where?"

Lyarra could see that Jon was pushing back his tears as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He revealed a purplish bruise. It didn't look too bad, but it was bad enough to make Lyarra want to strangle the new septa Tywin had appointed.

"And why did she do that?" Lyarra questioned, unable to hide her anger this time. She saw the fright on Jon's face – he probably thought she was mad at him – and quickly reassured him. "I'm not angry with you, Jon. Not at all. I just want to know what made her do that to you."

"I couldn't say a letter," he said, head bowed.

"And how long has she been doing letters with you?" Lyarra asked him.

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks?" she repeated. And nobody had told her, his _mother_? Lyarra pursed her lips together together until they became white. "I'm going to speak with Septa Yselle. She won't touch you again." Jon nodded silently. "Where's your father?"

"In there," Jon pointed towards Jaime's solar. "He talking to Lord Tywin."

She only nodded in response as she let Jon climb off her lap. He seemed to take her question in the wrong way and ran towards Jaime's solar, interrupting his meeting with his father. Lyarra called for Jon, standing up to follow him, before she spotted something on the table. Jaime had gotten a new sword.

Noticing the different design on the sheathe first, Lyarra decided to unsheathe the sword to see what it looked like out of sheer curiosity. She recognised the steel immediately. It was black and mystical, with ripples similar to the rippling of water running through the steel. She ran her fingers along the steel, her heart breaking as she remembered all the times she watched her father train with that sword. Now it was Jaime's. Now it belonged to the Lannisters.

Lyarra heard footsteps approach from behind her, accompanied by the sound of Jon's giggling. Lyarra didn't even turn around.

"Run along now, son," Jaime told Jon as he set him on the ground and allowed him to play. "Lyarra..."

"Valyrian steel," she stated, looking at the sword with tears in her eyes. "My father's sword looked just like this, except for the hilt." Jaime stayed silent. _Coward,_ she thought bitterly, wishing he would say something so she could get mad at him. "Who has the other sword?"

Jaime paused for a moment. "Joffrey," he answered, almost begrudgingly, as though she forced the name from his mouth.

"Joffrey," she repeated, scoffing. Of all the people to be in possession of her father's sword, Joffrey was the least ideal. Lyarra sheathed Jaime's new sword and placed it on the table. "You swore an oath to my mother. You didn't tell me."

"Forgive me, wife," Jaime said bitterly, his bitterness clear in his tone and on his face. "I fear I didn't get the chance, what with your pretending I don't exist." Lyarra gave him a look for avoiding her question, causing her husband to sigh. "Who told you?"

"Brienne of Tarth."

A humourless laugh came from his mouth as he nodded ruefully. "Of course it was."

"And will you?" Lyarra asked, never one for useless chatter.

"Will I what?"

"You swore to bring my sisters home," Lyarra reminded him. She licked her lips. She hated remembering that along with Robb, Bran and Rickon, Arya may be dead as well. Perhaps Sansa was the only sibling she had left except for Jon at the Wall. The thought saddened her. "Arya may be gone, but Sansa's here. Will you keep your oath to my mother?"

He sighed again, wearing that horrible, _pitying_ look that Lyarra absolutely abhorred. She hated pity from anyone, but especially from _him_. He approached her slowly, like she was a wounded animal. "Lyarra, your mother is dead."

 _As though I could forget!_ She ripped herself away from him. " _I know that_ ," she growled. "But that doesn't mean your free of your promise to her. Or was your vow to my mother another promise you planned to break?"

"I swore to bring your sisters home, yes. But what home do they have? Winterfell is the Bolton's now-"

She shook her head vehemently. "It is not theirs. Not by right."

Jaime placed a hand on her shoulder, looking surprised when she didn't push him away. Lyarra didn't know why she didn't push him away. She should have, but she needed comfort. She was sick of being so angry and hateful all the time. "Someday, I swear to you, we will take it back from the Boltons, but that day is not any time soon. Not while my father draws breath. The North isn't safe. Sansa is as safe here as she will be anywhere."

"Do you honestly believe that?" she asked him. Her tone was softer now. She was scared – _so scared_ – and sick of acting like she wasn't. Jaime didn't respond. "So long as _Joffrey_ draws breath, Sansa isn't safe here."

"And what will happen to her in the North?" Jaime asked her, becoming frustrated. "Do you think Roose Bolton will happily welcome a Stark into the North when that Stark has a better claim to his lands than he does? Come now, Lyarra, think."

"The Vale, then," Lyarra suggested, stepping away from him. "To my Aunt Lysa."

Jaime scoffed at that idea straight away. "Your aunt is a lunatic."

"Your _sister_ is a lunatic," she pointed out. The mention of his sister made Jaime flinch as though she had accused him of something. "Your son-" Seeing Jaime's glare, Lyarra rolled her eyes and corrected sarcastically, "-your _nephew_ is a lunatic. I'd rather her be with our lunatic aunt than our lunatic king."

"You're asking me to kidnap my sister-in-law and bring her to the Vale. You're asking me to betray my family, you do realise that?" Jaime said, looking at her like she had two heads.

Lyarra felt herself become cold and icy with rage. "I am asking you to keep your oaths, _ser_."

"And I will," he replied just as icily. "Just give me time."

"How long?"

"As long as it takes."

They spoke no more after that. Lyarra stared at her husband, a mixture of shock and anger mingled together in her grey eyes. Jaime was the one to walk away, leaving Lyarra glaring after him. Anger pulsing through her veins, she decided that now was the time to deal with Jon's septa.

She stormed into the small prayer room on the south-side of the Red Keep. Septa Yselle jumped up, fear etched on her face as she looked at the intruder. Her fear soon morphed into surprise when she saw Lyarra, and then her eyes narrowed accusingly.

"If you would excuse me, my lady, I was at prayer..."

"The gods can wait," Lyarra spat back. "I have to speak with you first. You had no right to lay a finger on my son. I never told you to teach him how to read. I am his mother. I decide how and when he is taught."

"With all due respect, I do not serve you. I take my orders from Lord Tywin," Septa Yselle replied boldly, a permanent frown etched onto her face. "And he was the one who told me to teach Lord Jon how to read and to reprimand him however I see fit."

 _How dare he?!_ Not only did Lord Tywin threaten her and treat her like a broodmare, but now he was controlling her son too. Lyarra felt her rage flare again. "Never again will you lay a hand on him. We won't be staying in King's Landing forever. If you decide to be Lord Tywin's loyal dog, when we return to Casterly Rock I will cast you out on the street with nothing but your faith and your gods to save you."

"Lord Tywin is the Lord of Casterly Rock," the septa replied.

"Yes, he is," Lyarra answered. "He is also the Hand of the King. While he's away, Jaime and I will be in charge. Tywin Lannister will be far too busy to care about the likes of you."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I'm a bit iffy about this ending but I don't know how else to end it?

Next chapter is the Purple Wedding! There's a surprise in store ;)


	23. The Escape

**The Escape**

As soon as she opened her eyes, Lyarra willed herself to sleep again. The thought of going to Joffrey and Margaery's wedding pained her, not because of jealousy or wanting, but because she knew that something was going to happen. When it came to Joffrey, something _always_ happened.

Groaning in frustration, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and climbed out of it. Lyarra called for Rhea to help her dress and do her hair. Like always, Lyarra refused to wear her hair like a southerner, preferring the simple northern styles because she preferred how they looked on her _and_ , to be truthful, because she liked making a statement, however small. Her dress was a pale red and sleeveless. It had a low neckline, nothing like the dresses Margaery wore, but low enough nonetheless. She wore a simple necklace that had once belonged to her mother. The Lannisters wouldn't recognise it, but it still felt like a small victory to her.

Once she was ready, she stood up from her vanity and moved to the window, watching the servants get ready for the wedding feast. Firstly, however, there was the wedding breakfast. Lyarra willed it all to be over. If she could only lie and say she was ill, her sickness from being with child would serve as an acceptable excuse. But Lyarra knew that if she didn't attend, Cersei would be on her back about why and use it as proof that Lyarra was a traitor. It was easier to just go to the stupid wedding.

"Good morning," Jaime said as he walked into her bedroom.

Lyarra turned around to greet him. She gave him a small smile. "Good morning."

"I got Joffrey armour for his wedding," Jaime informed her.

"Good choice. Though I don't imagine it will get much wear." She heard tell of the king's cowardice during the Battle of Blackwater, mainly from Tyrion, but from Margaery and her ladies as well. It surprised her how, when the music was played loud enough, Margaery and her ladies transformed into open books. It was a stark difference from their usual guarded, perfect selves.

Jaime snorted as he poured himself a glass of wine. "It was the only thing I could think of. What to get the boy who has everything. It was difficult." Lyarra didn't respond. She saw him nodding towards their son. "He's sleeping late. I can't remember him ever sleeping past dawn."

"He didn't sleep much last night," Lyarra said, glancing towards Jon. "He had a nightmare."

"Lucky you were there to soothe him then," Jaime retorted, his tone taking on a sarcastic edge.

Without her willing them to, Lyarra felt her eyes narrow at her husband as anger danced within them. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You spoil him," Jaime said plainly. He accompanied his accusation with a scoff as he drank the rest of his wine. "How is he to ever grow into a man when he still sleeps with his mother?"

She rolled her eyes. Ever since he came home, Jaime was trying to change everything. He thought he was fixing their family. Lyarra considered him to be intruding. "He's not supposed to be a man yet, Jaime. He's three years old."

"You know what I mean," Jaime responded. "He needs his own room. He needs to be able to get over his nightmares on his own. If he doesn't learn now then he never will."

Lyarra shook her head, a disbelieving laugh escaping her mouth. "You're over-reacting," she accused. Just like always, Jaime was trying to fix something that didn't need to be fixed.

"And you're being stubborn," Jaime retorted. He paused for a moment. Lyarra was about to jump in with another harsh response, but before she could, Jaime continued speaking. "Father told me yesterday that he wants us to return to the Rock soon after the wedding."

She felt her entire face brighten into a large grin, all of her previous anger forgotten. She was finally getting away from these _lunatics_. "And you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't get a chance," he said. Lyarra remembered the fight they had. Seeing her reaction, Jaime sighed and stepped closer to her, his tone becoming a little softer. "I know you're glad, but I must insist that once we get to Casterly Rock, things will have to change. No more mollycoddling our son." He smiled at her. Lyarra detected humour in his smile and a softness that she sorely missed.

Without hesitating, Lyarra smiled back. "If you asked me to swim to Casterly Rock, I'd have no complaints," she remarked. _Anything to get away from this place and your insane sister,_ Lyarra thought to herself. She pushed those thoughts aside and focused on how happy leaving made her.

Jaime chuckled at her enthusiasm. Slowly, he reached out for her stomach, his hand slowly coming closer to her belly. Now at three months, Lyarra had a small bump that was barely noticeable unless one looked closely for it. She didn't make any movement to encourage Jaime, still bitter about their argument, but didn't discourage him either. Hesitantly, he pressed his hand against her stomach.

"I'll be with you when you're having this one. I swear it," he promised. There was wonder in his eyes as he looked at her stomach. The first time she was pregnant, Lyarra was amazed and excited. This time, however, because she knew how wonderful having a child was, all of her emotions were amplified a lot more.

She had to smile at Jaime's promise. "Another oath?" she said, half in jest.

His expression suddenly turned serious. "And like the oath I made to your mother, I intend to keep this one," he swore.

Lyarra beamed at him. For the first time since he left her in Casterly Rock, Lyarra felt something other than dislike for him. It wasn't love or anything near that. Lyarra would call it closer to acceptance or tolerance. She thought, for the first time in ages, that she could live with Jaime peacefully, without arguing every second interaction.

The breakfast held in celebration of Joffrey's wedding was just as Lyarra expected it to be – lavish, expensive and filled with tension. She felt Cersei glaring daggers at her throughout the whole breakfast. Lyarra wanted to pull her hair out with frustration. She would gladly leave Jaime with Cersei if she could just go home with her son – back to Winterfell, where all Starks belonged. Jon was more of a Stark to her than a Lannister.

Jaime presented Joffrey with their gift. It looked extremely expensive, adorned with gilded steel that shone and sparkled like true gold. There was engravings of lions on the shoulders and a material that looked like a red jewel ran through the armour. Lyarra didn't know much about jewels or armour, but she knew enough to see that Joffrey's armour was glorious. Joffrey thought so too and thanked Jaime genuinely, a large, giddy smile on his wormy lips.

Lord Tywin gave his grandson his gift next. It was a sword, just as Lyarra had expected. It was the second sword forged from her father's. As with Jaime's gift, Joffrey became giddy when he saw it, swinging the sword around recklessly like a child holding his first wooden sword. She felt her eyes well with tears, _angry tears_ , as Tywin gave Joffrey the second sword made from Ice. She got the sick urge to grab the sword from the king and slit Joffrey's throat, in front of all his family and guests. Lyarra realised now that she could do it. Perhaps not physically, Joffrey may be stronger than her, but she had the will and the desire to kill him. To kill all of them.

Dwelling on her murderous thoughts would do her no good, she decided, and she focused on the "proceedings." Next, Tyrion presented Joffrey with a book, detailing the lives of various Targaryen kings. Lyarra was commending Tyrion for his great gift, the book did look interesting in her opinion, just seconds before Joffrey brought his new sword – _her father's sword –_ down upon the book and cut it in half.

 _Ungrateful cunt,_ Lyarra thought to herself and from the look she saw on Jaime's face, it was clear that he was thinking the same. Cersei smirked, pleased at her son's reaction. No wonder Joffrey was such a bratty cunt. With a mother like Cersei, it would have been a miracle if he turned out stable.

* * *

As she sat in the Sept, watching Joffrey and Margaery recite their vows to one another, all Lyarra could think about was _how lucky_ Sansa was to have gotten out of her engagement. Joffrey would have brutalised her. Margaery was older and more experienced when it came to playing the game. She could have Joffrey wrapped around her little finger in no time. But still, when the time came, Joffrey could easily become bored of her as well and use her as a play toy.

Although she loved her parents dearly, Lyarra often blamed them for the situation they were in. Not for everything that had happened, much of that was unavoidable. No, she blamed them for planning to marry her and Sansa to southern men and never preparing them for what the South was like. Lyarra never realised how different the South was until she was married. It took her a good two years to become accustomed to their games and the constant lying and deceit. If her parents had only warned her, things could have been much different.

She bounced Jon on her knee, seeing that he was getting fussy. If he made a scene, Lyarra had no doubt that Joffrey would ensure that Jon paid for it later. Jaime had accused her of spoiling him, and perhaps she did, but Jaime didn't understand. For a long time, and perhaps still, Jon was all she had. She was so lonely in King's Landing. Her fighting spirit was gone. She had become a shell of who she used to be. Jon was her solace, her only light. So what if she spoiled him? He was a good child, a likeable, clever, kind child. She hadn't done anything wrong by loving her son.

Feeling herself becoming angry again, Lyarra tried not to think about anything that could trigger her anger. They would be back at the Rock soon, away from Joffrey and Cersei and all the other people in King's Landing that Lyarra was wary of. It wasn't quite home, but it was good enough for her.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love," Joffrey announced, his voice taking on a tone of annoying flamboyance as though he was a performer.

Margaery forced a smile on her lips. Lyarra knew the new queen well enough to differentiate between her false and her real smiles. Even though Margaery was an expert performer, she still slipped up from time to time. She never gave Joffrey a real smile. "With this kiss, I pledge my love," Margaery replied, as though she was the happiest girl in the world.

And perhaps she was. This was what she wanted, was it not? To be the queen. Lyarra wondered if Margaery would come to regret her eagerness, as Sansa had.

Lyarra caught Cersei's eye, seeing the bitterness and anger etched on her face. It made her smile. Cersei wasn't the queen anymore – Margaery was – and no doubt Cersei hated that fact. Lyarra saw her good-sister's eyes narrow venomously, a sight Lyarra was well used to – only this time her glare wasn't directed at the eldest Stark girl, but rather at her son's new wife. Lyarra looked away, a small smirk coming upon her lips. _You're not in charge anymore,_ Lyarra thought, the mere thought was enough to thrill her immensely. _You can't hurt me anymore._

She knew that was a lie. Cersei was still the mother of the king. But Lyarra had faith that Margaery would fight her corner as much as she could. She was safer than she had been in a long time.

"I hate weddings," Jaime commented as the proceedings finished and Margaery and Joffrey started to walk out of the sept. They were flanked by the Kingsguard and the Lannisters, that included Jaime and his family.

"No need to be so negative," Lyarra replied. Jaime gave her an odd look, causing Lyarra to laugh as she hoisted Jon onto her hip. "We only have seventy-seven courses to go."

"Don't remind me," Jaime groaned. Once they were outside the Sept, Jaime ruffled Jon's hair affectionately before he turned to Lyarra, "I have to join the guard. Will you be alright?"

Summoning a reassuring smile, Lyarra nodded her head. "Of course. Go on," she told him. In truth, she wished for him to stay. She loathed to be alone among her husband's family. Even though Jaime occasionally drove her to madness, he was the most tolerable of his family along with Tyrion.

She spotted Sansa and Tyrion climbing into a carriage together and longed to join them. Seeing that Lord Tywin was only a few feet away, she decided against it. She climbed into an empty carriage and seated Jon beside her. He asked her a million questions about marriage and weddings and asked if Lady Margaery was pregnant now that she was married, since women were married so they could have babies. Lyarra went bright red and stumbled for an answer. Luckily, someone joined her in the carriage just then, serving as a much-needed distraction.

That relief quickly faded when Lyarra saw who had joined her. Cersei, once again, had decided to keep her company as they rode back to the keep.

"Your Grace," Lyarra greeted politely, disguising the venom in her voice. The carriage had just started to move and was rocking them.

"He behaved well for such a young boy," Cersei complimented Jon, giving her nephew what was supposed to be a kind, warm smile but instead looked like a lecherous grin. "When Joffrey was his age, he would have roared the Sept down if he was forced to sit down for that long."

A part of Lyarra wished that Jon could be more... childish, she supposed was the word. Because of her status as a traitor, he had to be perfect. Perhaps they could let their guard down now that Jaime was home. Nevertheless, Lyarra was still hyper-vigilant.

"The wedding was beautiful," Lyarra said in an attempt to bring the conversation to a lighter topic. She had chosen the wrong topic, judging by Cersei's sour look. She tried to redeem herself. "The Sept was decorated wonderfully."

"Yes, it was," Cersei replied, looking away from Lyarra as her thoughts consumed her. Lyarra could almost see the bitter thoughts eating away at her good-sister. She was paranoid, that was for certain. "Lady Margaery looked beautiful, didn't she?"

Lyarra startled at that. She feared that the queen knew about her affair with Margaery. _How could she? We were so careful..._ Yet rumours spread and they were enough to tear apart a person's reputation. Or, in the case of a traitor's daughter, it was enough reason to issue a death warrant.

"She did," was Lyarra's response, She cursed herself for letting her voice shake.

"Her brother's rather handsome as well. I'm to be married to him. Have you heard the rumours about him?" Cersei asked her, green eyes narrowed into accusing slits. Shaking her head, Lyarra didn't have to try to look dumbfounded. "No?" Cersei gave a little, mocking laugh. "I thought everybody knew. Loras Tyrell prefers male company. Didn't you know?"

Looking confused again, Lyarra shook her head. "No, I didn't. What do you mean he prefers male company?"

"I mean that he fucks men," Cersei replied, delighting in how Lyarra flinched at her use of vulgar words. "You're such a delicate little thing, aren't you? A perfect little lady wife. I remember how Robert used to stare at you, and by stare I mean _stare_." She threw her head back and chuckled. "At your tits and your arse... he thought you were Lyanna Stark reborn. I never saw the similarity. Lyanna had a backbone. She was a true wolf. You're more like a bird, just like your sister."

The carriage came to a halt. Mumbling a polite farewell, Lyarra climbed out of the carriage and rushed away, just like at Tyrion and Sansa's wedding. Cersei seemed to like cornering her and forcing her to listen to horrible insults. The thought of King Robert looking at her like that made her want to get sick, even though it happened years ago.

Given that it was such a lovely day – naturally, every day was lovely in King's Landing – the wedding took place outside. The tables were covered by tents made from Lysene cloth with intricate, floral designs on the edges. Tywin Lannister had spared no expense. Lyarra remembered how costly her own wedding had been, and that was a wedding between his heir and a girl that he didn't really want his beloved son to marry. This was a royal wedding and, naturally, it seemed to cost twice as much.

Jaime dismounted his horse and joined her and their son, escorting them to their seats. They were seated at the head table. Lyarra sat with Jaime on her left and Jon to her right, with Prince Tommen on his right. The prince was a sweet boy. He was kind and caring. Joffrey had taunted and on occasion hurt Jon, but Prince Tommen couldn't have been more different. The prince doted on his cousin and spoke with him about silly little things, like knights and horses and what Jon liked to play while Tommen listened to his baby babble with a surprisingly interested look on his face. Lyarra had to smile at that.

Seventy-seven courses later, Lyarra's stomach ached and her head was whirling. They were small enough portions, but seventy-seven was far too much for any normal human. Jon had been unable to continue eating after the forty-sixth and Lyarra hadn't forced him, even when Cersei gave her a scowl. Jon was sitting back in his chair now, rubbing his stomach. Lyarra wished she could do the same, but unfortunately, it would have been improper.

After the meals, performers were brought in front of the king and the royal family. Each one of them was jeered by Joffrey in some way or another. One man got coins thrown at him, another, a singer, fell victim to Joffrey's threats – the man was such a terrible singer, Joffrey joked that he shouldn't have a tongue. For most, this would have sounded like some sort of terrible joke. But because it was Joffrey saying it, and because his reputation preceded him, the wedding reception went deadly silent and the singer quaked in fear. Just then, Joffrey broke the tense silence by throwing his head back and laughing cheerfully.

She was bored yet on edge, terrified that Joffrey might turn on her next. It was very possible, considering how he loved to humiliate Starks and those less powerful than him. Lyarra remembered how gleeful he was when telling her of the deaths of Robb and her mother. _That smile_ made her insides twist with anger and disgust whenever her mind pictured it. He had been _delighted_ with himself, as though the deaths of her family were the gods' gift to him. In the last few weeks, she felt her sanity and her morality deteriorate. She considered doing things she would have never even thought of before. At night, she imagined things, horrible, sinful things, and the thought of vengeance was the only thing that got her to sleep.

Sometimes she wondered if she was going mad or if she was adapting. Perhaps King's Landing required a bit of insanity to survive it.

"I'm going for a walk," Lyarra told Jaime, finding him to be as bored as she was.

"Don't stray too far," he warned her, his tone becoming one of scolding.

Rolling her eyes, a jesting smile came upon her lips. "I won't," she replied as she pushed out her chair and stood up. So long as she could get somewhere where she couldn't see or hear Joffrey, she would be plenty satisfied.

Despite the noise of those attending the wedding and the loud laughter of bawdy men, Lyarra finally felt at peace and more relaxed once she had gotten away from the head table. She was forced to speak with the occasional lord or lady who wished to offer their condolences and examine her reaction. Lyarra had her reaction down to a tee at this point. A small, thankful smile, a simple 'thank you,' and a mention of how Robb and her mother got what was coming for them because of their traitorous ways and how she missed the brother and mother she knew at Winterfell, not the traitors they became. People always looked disappointed at her guarded response. No doubt, they wanted to run back to Cersei and Lord Tywin with tell of how the Kingslayer's wife was as traitorous as her family. Lyarra wouldn't make it easy for them, even if that meant insulting her family's memory.

Caught up in her thoughts, Lyarra didn't notice the Prince of Dorne until his accented drawl called her attention to him. "Ah, Lady Lannister!" Prince Oberyn greeted her, a wide grin on his face. He said her title mockingly, a hint of distaste in his tone.

"Prince Oberyn," she replied, a civil smile on her lips. _I'm not very fond of my title either,_ she wanted to tell him, _but I manage to say it without distaste._ Prince Oberyn was a man with a family to protect him. He could say what he pleased. Lyarra knew that if she said one wrong word against House Lannister, she would be firmly reprimanded.

Without warning, the prince grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, lowering his voice to a whisper as his hot breath touched her cheek. "What happened to your family at the Twins was savagery. I have never forgotten what the Lannisters did to my family. You must never forget what they did to yours." Startled and wide-eyed, Lyarra merely stared at him, shocked and speechless. Prince Oberyn grinned salaciously at her. "Forgive me, my lady, but I have often wondered – does the Kingslayer fuck you well with only one hand, or would you say it has hindered his performance?"

She wondered if his question was a cover-up. He spoke it louder than his condemnation of the Lannisters. It was odd that the prince viewed asking about a woman's sex life _and_ insulting her husband in the process as a great deal more acceptable. She blinked, still startled from what he said to her before. "What a strange thing to wonder, Prince Oberyn," was her shaken response.

Oberyn winked at her, smirking. "Yet I have wondered all the same."

"I am very satisfied in my marriage," she assured him. It was the best response she could think of that didn't implicate herself as a harlot or a prude and that didn't insult Prince Oberyn. Feeling awkward because of the smirk Oberyn was giving her, she quickly changed the subject and glanced towards his paramour. "You haven't introduced me to your partner."

"Ah," Prince Oberyn replied, grinning. He slid his hand across his lover's back, moving his hand lower than what the highborn in King's Landing would consider appropriate. "This is my paramour – Ellaria Sand."

Lyarra smiled at her and gave her a nod. "Nice to meet you."

"You're more polite than your good-father and good-sister," Ellaria noted, speaking in a similar Dornish drawl that Oberyn had. She was very beautiful, with tanned skin, brown eyes and dark, curly hair. "Lady Cersei was preoccupied with the status of my birth."

She would expect no less from Cersei. The former queen considered herself above everyone just because she was a Lannister. She even considered herself above those of her own house. Bastards must seem like dirt to her. "My brother is a baseborn and I named my son after him."

The Dornish beauty gave her a genuine smile. Before his paramour could respond, Oberyn had cupped her chin in his hands as he inspected her."You are a pretty girl. What do you think, my love?"

"She is pale," Ellaria commented, "and small." This seemed like a common occurrence for them, inspecting people and commenting on their looks. Lyarra looked at the both of them as though they had three heads. "But a beauty all the same. I've never had a northern girl."

"Nor I," Oberyn drawled. He let her go and stepped away from her, wearing that same grin, as though he knew something she didn't. "I've always liked to try women and men of all parts of the world, yet I do not think it is worth risking the wrath of Ser Jaime to have you. You must forgive me."

"I forgive you, my lord," she replied, still feeling very bewildered. Lord Oberyn and his paramour gave her one last seductive, salacious grin before they left her trying to make sense of what just happened.

Blinking rapidly, she had only just regained her composure and her senses when Cersei appeared beside her, staring after the Red Viper and his paramour with narrowed eyes. "What did the Viper want?"

As though Lyarra was going to tell _her_ of all people. Cersei would no doubt insist that she had wanted Oberyn to speak like that to her. As always, the queen enjoyed to find things that weren't there. "Nothing," Lyarra answered. "It was an idle conversation."

Cersei scoffed. "Nothing with Oberyn Martell is ever idle," Cersei said snappishly. Her irritated expression soon changed to one of mocking as she looked at Lyarra like she was prey. "You got with child again very soon after my brother's return. He must have forbade you sleep."

Ignoring the little laugh Cersei gave after her very rude statement, Lyarra looked Cersei in the eye and kept her expression still and as emotionless as she could. "We are fortunate to be blessed with a child so soon."

Her polite response only served to ignite the queen's anger. Cersei sneered at her. "You're a good little girl, aren't you? Always polite. Always dutiful. You're an exceptional broodmare, always willing to spread your legs for my brother. One might think you enjoy fucking him."

"I would never dare," Lyarra replied, her tone dripping with unwelcome sarcasm. _God forbid_ a woman enjoyed lying with her husband. Cersei surely enjoyed lying with Jaime, or else she would not have laid with him and produced three bastard children.

"How often does he take you? Nightly? Is he rough with you?" Cersei asked, glaring at her. Lyarra could tell that she was jealous of her. To Cersei, it must have seemed as though Lyarra had it all – she was married Jaime and she had a legitimate child by him whose parentage she didn't have to hide. Lyarra would have given it all up in an instant. Cersei _must_ have known that. If she could just go home, she would give it all to Cersei.

But Cersei didn't care what Lyarra wanted. She hated Lyarra out of bitter jealousy. Because of that, Lyarra felt sorry for her. Yet her anger got the better of her as she turned to Cersei, a small smirk on her lips. "Was he rough with you?"

The queen's eyes went wide, her mouth opening slightly in an expression of complete and utter shock, before her eyes narrowed and she glared venomously at her brother's young wife. "You little-"

She was interrupted by her own son as Joffrey started speaking, calling everyone to return to their seats as he had a surprise in store. Lyarra gave her good-sister one last smug look, well-aware that she would pay for it in some form or another, and walked towards her seat.

"Everyone silent!" Joffrey shouted. "There's been too much... amusement here today. A royal wedding is not an amusement. A royal wedding is history. The time has come for all of us to contemplate our history. My lords, my ladies," he addressed as one of the servants pulled a lever to open the mouth of a gigantic, mechanical lion. A red carpet, like a tongue, rolled out from the lion's mouth. Gleefully, Joffrey announced, "I give you... King Joffrey!" A small, golden-haired dwarf came riding out of the lion atop of fake horse. He called the names of the riders one by one. "Renly! Stannis! Robb Stark! Balon Greyjoy!" The dwarves cheered and shook their lances in glee. "The War of the Five Kings!"

The dwarves spun around on their horses like little fools. Lyarra turned her head and glared at the king without willing herself to, feeling an immense amount of rage bubble within her. Not only had he caused his death, he was making a mockery of him now. Robb was dead and Joffrey couldn't just let him rest.

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!" Robb's actor yelled joyfully.

Joffrey's actor gave a chuckle. "Yes!" The five actors got in formation as Joffrey's actor announced, as pompous as his inspiration. "Let the war... begin!"

The display was a disgusting, dishonourable example of Joffrey's childishness. Lyarra tried not to be upset, but as she watched the five dwarves run around, her brother being made a fool of, she couldn't help but feel her grief and sadness flare up again.

The dwarves chased King Renly and shoved their swords and spears up the back of his mount which was shaped like an arse. The Knight of Flowers pushed back his chair angrily and stormed off. The rumours were true then – Loras had loved Renly. The rest of the Tyrells, including Margaery, didn't look impressed either. The only ones laughing were Cersei, Tommen, Tywin, the lords and ladies who wanted to impress their king and, of course, Joffrey himself, who was choking because of laughing too hard. Jaime wasn't even laughing.

"I am the King in the North!" Robb's dwarf actor yelled again, spinning around like a fool. Joffrey looked over at them to gauge their response. Lyarra tried to keep her face even, but her eyes gave her true feelings away. Jon giggled and looked up at his parents. Seeing the anger on his father's face and the sadness etched in his mother's, he became as sombre as they were and went quiet.

Most of the dwarves had been defeated or were acting like fools, except for Joffrey's and Robb's actors, who were jousting against one another. Lyarra bristled at Robb's actor's continuous cries of, _"I'm the King in the North!"_ Robb would have never declared his title so pompously. She felt herself shake with anger and fisted her hands in her skirts to keep herself from saying or doing something stupid and to keep her face even. Joffrey's actor's lance knocked off dwarf Robb's wolf helmet and the dwarf soon fell off his horse and onto the ground, dying.

Lyarra felt Jaime's hand cover hers underneath the table. She didn't look at him, fixated on the display in front of her. Joffrey's actor dismounted his 'horse' and picked up Robb's actor's helmet and placed it over the area of his manhood, thrusting into it mockingly. Joffrey snorted with laughter and spat up his wine. Lyarra felt tears gather in her eyes. It wasn't how her brother died, but seeing an actor who was meant to be her brother die like that hurt her greatly. It was meant to hurt her, that she knew, her and Sansa.

Joffrey's actor threw the helmet on the ground and stood back, bowing to the audience. "My pleasure!" They lined up again and bowed to the audience, while some clapped and cheered and others glared silently.

Lyarra looked at the knife on her table. She could do it. Jaime's hand squeezed hers again. She looked away from the table and towards him. His face said it all – _don't do anything stupid_. Lyarra ached to do something stupid, just for once. She had been well-behaved for the last few years, like a trained dog. She wanted to lash out.

"Well fought, well fought!" Joffrey cheered. "Here you are – champion's purse." He looked thoughtful for a moment as he held the red purse before he looked towards his uncle. "Though you're not the champion yet, are you? A true champion defeats all who challenges. Surely there are others out there who still dare to challenge my reign? Uncle, how about you? I'm sure they have a spare costume."

Tyrion smiled wryly as chuckles came from the reception. He pushed his chair back and stood up. "One taste of combat was enough for me, Your Grace. I'd like to keep what remains of my face. I think you should fight. This was but a poor imitation of your own bravery on the field of battle. I speak as a first-hand witness. Climb down from the high table with your new Valyrian sword and show everyone how a true king wins his throne. Be careful though, this one is clearly mad with lust. It would be a tragedy for the king to lose his virtue hours before his wedding night." He sat back down as Joffrey glared at him with petulant rage.

The king picked up his glass and walked over to where Tyrion sat. He poured the red wine over his uncle's head, a childish, delightful grin on his wormy lips.

"Fine vintage," Tyrion stated, tasting the wine from his fingers. "Shame that it spilled."

"It did not spill," Joffrey replied, seething. He obviously wanted credit for his childish actions.

"My love! Come back to me!" Margaery called out, stretching out her arm as she planted an adoring smile on her lips. She wasn't fooling anyone anymore. Everyone had seen the look of disgust on her face at how Joffrey acted during the dwarves' performance. Lyarra hadn't missed the look of loathing she gave Joffrey as he snorted on his wine. "It's time for my father's toast," she told him.

Her efforts were acknowledged by Joffrey, but the king somehow managed to use it as an excuse to humiliate Tyrion further. "How does he expect me to toast without wine?" He walked towards his own seat before turning around, a gleam in his eyes as he looked back at his uncle. "Uncle, you can be my cupbearer, seeing as you're too cowardly to fight."

"Your Grace does me a great honour," Tyrion replied.

"It's not meant as an honour," Joffrey growled.

Tyrion stood up and gave Sansa a sorry look. Just as Tyrion was about to take the cup from Joffrey to fill it, Joffrey dropped it on the ground. When Tyrion bent down to pick it up, the king kicked it away. This was no king, not really. This was a spoilt child with a crown on his head.

"Bring me my goblet," the king commanded. Tyrion crawled under the table to find it. Sansa reached under the table and picked up the goblet, giving Joffrey a barely disguised look of loathing as she handed the cup to Tyrion, who took it with a grateful smile. Tyrion made to hand the cup to Joffrey. "What good is an empty cup? Fill it."

Obeying his king reluctantly, Tyrion grabbed a pitcher of wine and filled the king's cup before handing it to him. Joffrey stared at him like he had done something else wrong. Perhaps the king wanted more of a reaction. Lyarra noticed that Jaime's hand was still holding hers. She wondered if she was the one needing comfort or if he needed it now, watching his brother being taunted by his bratty son.

"Kneel," Joffrey ordered. When Tyrion didn't kneel, the king repeated himself. "Kneel before your king." His voice became threateningly low. " _Kneel_." Tyrion merely stared up at his nephew, expressionless. Joffrey yelled at him. "I said KNEEL!"

"Look, the pie!" Margaery stood up and exclaimed, her voice soft and high-pitched as she tried to ease the tension once again. As everyone else cheered, Tyrion and Joffrey continued to stare at each other. Joffrey took his cup from Tyrion and went to be with his new wife.

Joffrey cut the pie with his new sword – _her father's sword –_ and released a flurry of white doves who flew away into the sky. Lyarra forced herself to clap, her face showing no sign of joy or merriment. Even Jaime couldn't bring himself to look happy.

"Wonderful!" Margaery exclaimed as Joffrey grinned and took the praise just the same as his dwarf actor had earlier.

As Margaery fed Joffrey his pie, a forced look of adoration on her face, Tyrion and Sansa made to leave. As though he heard them getting up, Joffrey turned around and addressed them immediately. "Uncle, where are you going? You're my cupbearer, remember?"

"I thought I might change out of these wet clothes, Your Grace," Tyrion said.

"Oh, no, no, no. You're perfect the way you are," Joffrey replied as he took another bite of the pie. "Get me my wine." He turned around and gave Sansa a sorry look as he went over to tend to his king. "Hurry up! This pie is dry."

Tyrion handed the king his wine and went back over to Sansa. "If it please Your Grace, Lady Sansa is very tired-"

"No!" Joffrey said immediately, started to cough. "You'll wait here." He gripped at his throat as the cough became worse.

"Your Grace..."

He drank more of his wine. "It's nothing." He turned to Margaery, a terrified look on his face as he started to heave. Lyarra heard that once the coughing stopped and no sound could be heard from the choking person, that was when a person was truly in danger. She almost smiled as she watched the king suffer. She had never wished for anyone to die. She had never wished for tragedy to befall anyone. _Until now._

"Help the poor boy!" Lady Olenna shouted. "Idiots, help your king!"

Joffrey dropped his goblet onto the floor and grasped at his chest as he became less and less audible. He fell down the steps the led to the high table and hit the floor, coughing up vomit that was coloured red. Lyarra stood up, watching the king choke and trying to keep her expression schooled at the same time. Writhing and wriggling on the floor, he looked pathetic. Nothing like the spoilt boy that had managed to inflict terror in them all. Now, he was defenceless. There was a boy even younger than she was dying right in front of her and Lyarra didn't feel an ounce of pity.

Jaime turned her around to face him. She could see the conflict on his face. He wanted to get to his son, but he wanted to make sure she was safe as well. "You have to leave. If he dies, you'll be blamed." Lyarra fumbled for words. Speechless, she looked between the dying king and Jaime. "Now. Go."

Unable to think of what to say, Lyarra silently hoisted Jon onto her hip. She looked at Jaime for a second, wondering if she should say something, assure him that Joffrey would be okay or that she would be okay... Speechless, Lyarra merely gave him a nod of gratitude and ran off.

She had no idea what she was going to do. She decided to run to the docks. She could decide on a plan on the way. Perhaps some sailor would take pity on her. She heard someone following behind her and the clanking of armour. Looking over her shoulder in fear, she was calmed to find that it was only Brienne.

"To the stables, my lady," Brienne told her. "Give him here. He is slowing you down."

Brienne took Jon from her and managed to continue running, even with Jon's weight. The stables was empty save for a single stable boy. Brienne knocked his head against the wall, knocking the boy out. They stole two horses which Brienne deemed as the fastest by only looking at them. Lyarra took Jon back from Brienne and placed Jon in front of her on the horse. She kicked the horse to get it to gallop out of the stables. They had no gold. Lyarra didn't even have a cloak. Yet they went anyway.

Lyarra knew that Jaime was right. If she stayed, they would have blamed her for Joffrey's death. Now that she had fled King's Landing, she looked more guilty. They continued riding at high speed until night fall, putting enough distance between themselves and King's Landing.

She looked over her shoulder at the Red Keep and the town that surrounded it. Lyarra smiled.

 _May I never return._

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Longest chapter so far – 7000 words! It wasn't meant to be this long and usually when chapters are this long I'd split them somewhere in the middle and have two chapters, but there was no good place to split it considering that most of it is one long scene (the wedding). Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter! Saturdays have become my day for updating so hopefully I can keep that up.

So... what do you think about Lyarra escaping King's Landing?


	24. All That Matters

**All That Matters**

Two days after Joffrey was killed at his own wedding, Jaime was summoned to his father's solar by a scrawny boy with blonde hair. Knowing there was no use in arguing – Jaime hadn't been in much of a mood to be lectured by his father – the Lannister heir pushed aside his reluctance and walked to Tywin Lannister's quarters, like a man walking to the scaffold.

He sat on the seat opposite his father, not even receiving a greeting of any sorts. His father fixed him with a scowl, with narrowed eyes that looked as though they knew and had seen everything. Jaime met his stare evenly, trying to seem unperturbed.

"Your wife has ran away," Tywin stated after a long while of silence. "Just after our king was killed."

"What a coincidence," Jaime replied, sarcasm laced in his tone. Any fool could understand her reasons – or his, rather. He remembered Lyarra's reaction to Joffrey's death. She had been shocked into standing still, rooted to the spot, even when he urged her to run. Or perhaps she had fooled them all and was a better actress than he gave her credit for.

"You let her go," Tywin accused. "I saw you. Regardless of how distressed you were over Joffrey's death, you had to attend to her first. One might even think you were the one that gave her leave."

"So what if I did?" Jaime responded, having had enough of the mind games.

"So what if you did?" Tywin repeated, his disapproval accentuated by a humourless scoff. "That girl could have committed regicide. She had the motive. No one can deny it. You allowed a suspect in the king's murder to escape. That's what you did, Jaime. But once again, you acted without thinking about consequences."

Jaime sat up in his seat. "Chastise me all you like. But let me ask you this, what do you think Cersei would have done to her had she stayed? It wouldn't have mattered if she was innocent or not."

"Do you think she did it?" Tywin asked him without missing a beat. As soon as Jaime brought up his wife's possible role in Joffrey's murder, his father was on him immediately.

"Are you asking me if I think my wife murdered Joffrey?" _My son?_ He almost said, but even he wasn't stupid enough to make such a big slip-up. Jaime tried to sound as though the idea was so preposterous that he hadn't even considered it, but he _had_ considered it. Often.

Lyarra had changed. She was darker than the girl he married, more hateful and angry. She had every right to be, of course, after all that had happened to her family, but the woman she was now was a lot more likely to commit murder than the frightened, kind girl he wed.

"Yes," Tywin answered sternly, ignoring his false tone of disbelief. Jaime pressed his lips together. When he asked himself whether he thought she was capable of killing Joffrey, Jaime tried to come up with reasons why she wouldn't. But the truth was, he knew that if she could get away with it, Lyarra would have killed Joffrey without a second thought. When he neglected to respond, his father continued to speak. "Joffrey may have been a terrible king and a monstrous boy, but he was still a Lannister. We don't allow the death of one of our own to go unpunished."

"Lyarra is carrying my child – a Lannister," he reminded his father, who seemed to have forgotten. "She is mother to my son – another Lannister. Whether she did it or not, I couldn't put her at risk."

"You like her."

He blinked, unsure of how to respond. The question took him by surprise. He was expecting another accusation, another scolding perhaps, but this... this almost sounded like understanding. He licked his lips before responding. "I am fond of her," he admitted.

His father huffed. "Very well. I'll have some of our men sent after her and... what's that woman's name again?"

"Brienne," Jaime answered. He had nodded to Brienne after Lyarra fled with their son, urging her to follow and protect Lyarra and Jon. She was the only person he could trust, the only person who was more loyal to him and Lyarra than his father or sister.

"Yes," his father replied. "I'll have them sent after her to make sure Casterly Rock is where she's heading."

Jaime nodded, grateful that his father wasn't sending guards to drag her back to King's Landing. "Thank you, Father."

Without so much as another word, his father dismissed him with a nonchalant wave.

* * *

"How long do we have to go now, do you think?" Lyarra asked Brienne as they mounted their horses once again.

They had been riding for six days and were in the southern riverlands, having just passed Acorn Hall. Lyarra's thighs ached from being on horseback all the time and she longed for proper food. They had eaten nothing but berries and badly cooked meat since they left King's Landing. Jon kept getting sick and Lyarra was struggled to keep down her food. Her pregnancy certainly didn't help. She found the food in King's Landing sickening as it was, but eating undercooked rabbits in the wild made her want to violently hurt.

But it was the best they had for now, so Lyarra put her reservations aside and ate the food without complaint. Her cooking skills had improved in the last few days. They could no longer see the veins in the meat and blood no longer oozed from the animal's skin.

"A week, I believe. Perhaps less if we can make a good pace," Brienne replied as she urged her horse into a trot.

They spent the day riding. Lyarra occupied herself by listening to Jon's amusing babbling and when he fell asleep, she became occupied by her own thoughts. She doubted Cersei or Lord Tywin would let her escape King's Landing without any form of punishment, or even a warning. She hoped Jaime would stand up for her, though against Cersei it was unlikely.

It was dark and cold when they had the misfortune to come across a river. She believed it to be the river that ran from Riverrun to Pinkmaiden and ended at the Golden Tooth. They were near the Westerlands at least, even if they still had a while to go. They just had to cross the river first.

She looked to Brienne for an explanation of how they were going to cross. Brienne had a thoughtful expression on her face, eyes narrowed at the river and her lips pressed together in a frown. She was as irritated by the presence of the river as Lyarra was.

"We should see if the river becomes shallow down stream so we can cross atop the horses," Brienne suggested.

Having no other suggestion, Lyarra nodded and followed Brienne down the stream. Jon was snoring against her chest, blissfully asleep while all this was happening. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, feeling it to be cold and clammy. She then felt his forehead with the back of her hand and bit her lip, worry twisting in her stomach. This was not the time for him to get sick. She wrapped her cloak around him and brought him closer to her chest, doing all she could to keep him warm.

"This is as shallow as it gets I think," Brienne stated. "It's narrower too."

"The water's going very...quickly," she stated, unsure of what language river-people used to describe the quick flow of the river. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Brienne?"

"It's the quickest way, my lady. The longer we scale the countryside with little protection, the more we put ourselves at risk. The sooner I get you to Casterly Rock, the better," Brienne said. She waited for Lyarra's consent. Still unsure, Lyarra frowned but gave her protector a short nod. Brienne urged her horse forward and into the river.

The water engulfed the horse's legs. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she urged her horse forward as well. The harsh current of the river made the black mare unsteady. Lyarra gripped the reigns tighter.

"Mother?" she heard Jon say, his voice disorientated and confused from sleep. He turned around to look at her, wide-eyed. "What-"

"Hush, everything is going to be fine. We just have to get across this river and we'll be nearly home," Lyarra told him, trying to keep her voice steady even though the horse was not and she herself was internally panicking. "You'll have to be brave for me. Can you?"

He took a few seconds to answer and when he did, he gave her a short nod and gripped onto her body tighter. Lyarra closed her eyes for a quick moment and willed herself to be brave too. She felt the horse's hoof step on a rock beneath the water, causing her entire body to shake as they very nearly fell into the water again.

Brienne stayed at her side and gave her an encouraging nod, seeing her distress. The female knight didn't look too calm either, her body was stiff and her eyes were wide and alert. Lyarra gulped and allowed her horse to continue stepping through the river. They were half way now, but it seemed the wind was getting worse and causing the flow of the river to become faster.

Once again, the mare placed her hoof in the wrong place and seemed to get it caught in weeds underneath the water. Before she realised what was happening, Lyarra felt herself being thrust off the saddle and let out a scream. She heard nothing but Brienne calling her name and the whooshing of the water as her head hit the ground.

She saw red colour the river and realised with a start that it was not just her blood. She saw Jon only a few feet away from her, his head split open and oozing blood, and rushed towards him, realising with a start that he was not awake. She picked him up and struggled to stand, her entire body shaking. She gasped for breath and looked up at Brienne with a frightened expression before she looked down at her son again. He was breathing too, but just barely.

Brienne jumped down off her horse and took Jon from her, carrying him carefully in her arms. "We're nearly there, my lady. We'll tend to him when we get to the other side."

Too shocked to speak, Lyarra nodded mutely and grabbed the reigns of the horses, leading them to shore. She couldn't lose Jon. He was all she had. She felt tears rush to her eyes but refused to let them fall. He wasn't going to die. There was no need for tears. She wouldn't let him die.

Her wet dress dragged behind her and stuck to her skin and she struggled to get to land. Once they were out of the river, Brienne laid him across Lyarra's lap. She ripped the end of her expensive pale red dress without a thought and pressed the cloth against Jon's wound. Brienne pressed her fingers against his throat.

"He's still alive and breathing," Brienne assured her. "We'll bring him to the Golden Tooth and have their maester tend to him."

Lyarra stared at her son, his face covered in his own blood, and felt her heart rip in two. She glanced up at Brienne briefly and nodded her head. What else could they do? As much as she loathed to see Lord Lefford again, it was their only option. Lyarra wasn't going to let her son die because of her stupid pride.

Jon stayed asleep for the entire journey, his bleeding head pressed against Lyarra's chest. Her dress was covered in her son's blood, her hair was drenched in it, but Lyarra could think of nothing but getting him to the Golden Tooth.

By the time they arrived, it was morning.

Lord Lefford's young bride recognised her. Startled by the sight of her bloodied lady carrying the bloodied heir to Casterly Rock, Lady Lefford remained speechless as she stood aside and let Lyarra into her home. She brought them to the maester immediately.

"Lady Lannister-"

"He's dying," Lyarra said, unable to hold in her tears or keep her voice from shaking. "Please. Save my son."

The maester stared at her, speechless. "Of course, my lady. I'll do all I can," he replied and rushed to her son's side. Lyarra kneeled beside the table where her son was laid and brushed his hair behind his ear on the side of his head that the cut wasn't on. She teared up and prayed silently to the Mother. _Don't let him die don't let him die don't let him die._ She prayed over and over, reciting the same words. It was stupid, that she knew. His fate was in the hands of the maester that tended to him, not in the hands of any invisible god.

"My lady, your head," Lady Lefford pointed out as she approached Lyarra with a cloth.

"Don't worry about me. I'm fine," she assured the girl.

"Still, it might get infected. May I?" she asked, waiting for Lyarra's consent. Deciding that it wouldn't do her any harm, Lyarra nodded and allowed the girl to place the hot cloth on her head. Lady Lefford washed the blood off her face as well with cautious, gentle hands. "I don't think you'll need stitches. It looks narrow enough and not that deep. You got lucky, my lady."

"Thank you," Lyarra said once the girl was done. She hadn't thought of taking care of herself. The girl had a kind heart. She didn't deserve to be married to someone like Lord Lefford.

"It's no problem at all," Lady Lefford replied with a kind, gentle smile.

The maester was sewing Jon's wound closed after cleaning away all the blood and dirt. Lyarra watched him carefully, whispering quiet reassurances into Jon's ear. She wasn't sure if Jon could even hear her, but if he did, then at least he'd know that his mother was still with him.

"Well?" Lyarra asked the maester when he was finished.

He turned to her as he cleaned his needle and scalpel. "He will live," the maester declared. Lyarra let out a sigh of relief and smiled, pressing her forehead against her son's shoulder. "His wound isn't infected and he didn't lose enough blood to be worried about that..."

She could hear the silent 'but' at the end of his sentence. "What is it?"

Sighing, the maester placed his equipment in his drawer and looked at her gravely. "There may be... considerable damage to his brain. We don't know enough about such matters to make a conclusive diagnosis."

"What do you mean 'considerable damage'?"

"I mean..." the maester began again, looking for the best way to say it. "Large wounds to the head often have bad consequences. He will live, there's no doubt about that, and his physicality will not be affected at all, but his general intelligence might not be up to par." Lyarra gave him a look, urging him to explain further. "He may not be very clever. I don't know the extent, but he most certainly will not as intelligent as other children his age."

"So he will be dumb?"

"Again, I'm not sure of the _extent_."

"Lady Lannister!" she heard a man yell and stiffened, knowing right well who it was. "I didn't know you were visiting us!"

"Lord Lefford," Lyarra replied, gritting her teeth together. "Forgive me for not sending word. It wasn't exactly a planned visit. We were on our way back from King's Landing when my son had a fall. Your maester was kind enough to tend to him."

"It's odd that the Lady of Casterly Rock is returning from the capital without a retinue of guards to protect her, only a _woman_ ," he spat the word like it was curse.

Lyarra glared at him. "Brienne of Tarth is more than capable of protecting us."

"Obviously not. Since your son nearly died," the man declared gleefully. Lyarra flinched and tried to hide how his words affected her. Lefford obviously noticed as a grin crossed his lips. "I should have been informed that Lady Lannister was here," he said to his wife, who became wide-eyed and frightened.

"Forgive me, my lord–I forgot–it all happened so fast–there was no time..." she stuttered in response, staring at the ground.

"No time to inform _the lord_ of the keep that someone had come to _his keep_?" Lefford scoffed. "I am a loyal bannerman of House Lannister. I deserve to be informed when the heir of House Lannister comes to my doorstep wounded."

"Hardly loyal," Lyarra muttered underneath her breath.

"What did you say?" Lefford asked her, his voice filled with rage as he glowered at her.

Lyarra met his glare evenly, an innocent smile on her lips as she replied, "Nothing. I only thanked the Mother for how gracious you are in lending us the service of your brilliant maester."

"And I will lend you nothing more," Lord Lefford stated. " _Leave_ ," he growled at her.

"No, you can't. He-he has to rest!" Lyarra insisted, regretting her sharp tongue and her petty insults. "He- he could die! Lord Lefford, please! I'm sorry for any way I've wronged you in the past, but please, _please_ , help us!"

Lord Lefford grinned at her and stepped closer, glaring down at her kneeling form like she was vermin. "You will leave, _now_ , or I will bring you back to King's Landing myself. I know about King Joffrey's death. Someone murdered him – only a fortnight after the Red Wedding. You're a suspect in the murder of our king. What Cersei Lannister would do to you." He chuckled. "Your choice."

"You're no friend of mine," Lyarra said as she realised something. She rose to her feet. "If it was your choice, you would have dragged me back to the Red Keep without threatening me or giving me any choice at all. You'd jump at the chance to see me on trial." She relished in seeing Lefford's face fall and his grin fade away. She was more intelligent than him and she had always loved to show him that. "I'm pardoned, aren't I?"

Lyarra grinned as he glared at her. Obviously, she didn't know the full story, but she suspected that Lord Tywin, knowing that she was to ride through the westerlands and was considered to be a suspect in Joffrey's murder, had sent word to his bannermen that she wasn't accused of killing the king. That was why no one had come to take her away.

"Get out," Lord Lefford growled at her.

She met his glare for a few moments before turning away from him and nodding to Brienne. "Thank you," she said to the maester and Lady Lefford. "I'll remember how helpful you were in our time of need," she told Lord Lefford who only gave him a small smirk in response. Brienne picked up Jon and carried him out of the castle, Lyarra followed behind her.

"Here." Having followed them out of the keep, Lady Lefford handed her a sack full of items. "There's food in there and a change of clothes."

"Thank you," she said again to the woman that had helped them despite having no obligation to.

The woman only smiled and let them on. Lyarra mounted her horse and carefully placed Jon in front of her before urging her horse to move forward.

That same evening, they were joined by guards boasting the Lannister banner. She stared at the guards as they approached, frozen to the spot like a statue. Tempted to run away, Lyarra became panicked. What if she had been wrong about Lord Tywin? What if they were here to take her away?

She decided against running, knowing that their horses were most likely faster than hers and would no doubt catch up to her. Instead, she took a deep breath and held up her chin. She had done nothing wrong.

"My lady," one of the guards announced. He looked drunk and dishevelled. "I am Ser Jonothor. Lord Tywin sent us. We're here to escort you to Casterly Rock."

"It took you long enough," Lyarra replied, trying not to show her relief. She heard Brienne scoff beside her.

"My apologies," he responded, looking not at all sorry. He shared a look with the young man beside him, a smirk on his lips as they shared an unspoken joke. "We had a bit of fun on the way."

 _Fun?!_ They had to cross a river because it was too dangerous to go by land. Her son had _his head_ split open! Yet they were held up because they were having _a bit of fun_?! She pushed back her anger and merely nodded. Without sparing them another look, she allowed her horse to trot forward again.

"Mother?" she heard Jon say.

Her heart raced. "Yes, my love. It's me." She pressed a kiss to the back of his head. "I'm right here. Can you tell me what you're name is?"

"Jon," he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Mother, you know that."

She smiled, a feeling of utter relief washing over her as she pressed her cheek against her son's head. "I know. I know."

* * *

"You've become thoughtful." Sansa heard Littefinger say behind her as she stared out the small, circular window – the only window in her room below deck. She didn't bother turning to speak to him, having nothing to say. "What are you thinking about?"

She pressed her lips together, frowning. He had just told her that _he_ was the one who killed Joffrey, the king whose murder _Sansa_ would be blamed for, whose murder _Lyarra_ would be blamed for! Yet he had the nerve to expect her to be chatty. "You knew who would be blamed," Sansa stated. "You always have everything planned perfectly. You said it yourself. No stone left unturned

. Nobody thinks it was you or the Tyrells. They'll think it was me or Lyarra. If they find me..."

"If they find you, you'll be killed and strung up for all of King's Landing to see," Littlefinger told her, his tone even as though he was merely discussing the weather. He stepped closer to her. "I could have let them have you. Joffrey is dead. The Tyrells are my allies now. Margaery Tyrell is to be queen and will no doubt manage to have her claws in Tommen soon enough. I don't need you, Sansa. Saving you... it was a risk. I don't take risks. But this time, I did. For you."

Sansa looked away. He was trying to make her feel bad or _special,_ perhaps. She struggled to decipher his motives most of the time. His guard was always up. "Why didn't you save her too?" she asked quietly. Her sister was alone with the Lannisters now. Although Sansa had never been much help, she had gained strength from knowing her sister was in the same keep as her. She was sure Lyarra gained strength from that as well. Now she was a prisoner, while Sansa was free.

But was she free, truly? She still didn't trust Littlefinger. He had to be looking for _something_.

The corner of his lip curled upwards in a smirk. "I told you I don't like to take risks, Sansa. She's too valuable to the Lannisters. And if I was to bring her away from the capital, she would have insisted on bringing her son – House Lannister's prized heir. I loved your mother, but that was a risk I would never take," Petyr explained.

"They'll blame her for killing Joffrey," Sansa stated, becoming panicked as she realised how much trouble her sister was in. "She's a Stark. She has the motive." Realisation dawned on her. She remembered what she'd said herself earlier he always had everything planned perfectly. "But that was apart of your plan, wasn't it? To have Lyarra take the blame so no one considers you as a suspect."

"There are three people who will seem to have the largest motives to want Joffrey dead. Lyarra, you and the Imp," Littlefinger told her.

Sansa's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Lord Tyrion?" Sansa knew he wasn't fond of Tyrion, but she didn't believe he was capable of killing Joffrey, his own nephew!

"Yes," he said, nodding. "Entirely misguided, of course. But Cersei and Tywin's hatred of the Imp will blind their judgement." Seeing the look on Sansa's face, Littlefinger rushed to explain himself further. "They would have put you in the black cells with him had I not intervened."

"Have you had any news from King's Landing? Any letters?" Sansa asked him, terrified for her sister. The last time she saw Lyarra, she was staring at Joffrey's dying form with a gleam in her eyes. When she thought of the look Lyarra had on her face, she wondered if her sister could have done it. Lya had changed, Sansa knew that, but she had always been clever and practical. She wouldn't have risked it.

But that didn't mean the Lannisters wouldn't accuse her of the crime.

Littlefinger cupped her chin in his hands and smiled at her, though the smile looked more predatory than comforting. "You mustn't look so down, sweetling. Your sister is with child, did you know that?"

No, she hadn't. Nobody told her anything. Another nephew or niece... Sansa would have smiled if she wasn't extremely uncomfortable. She shook her head.

"No?" Baelish stated. "Well, I can safely say that Tywin Lannister will do everything he can to ensure that your sister lives long enough to give birth."

"And after that?" Sansa questioned, her voice conveying how terrified she felt as it trembled. Ser Jaime would protect her sister, she tried to reassure herself. Even if he didn't love Lyarra, even if he still loved Cersei like the rumours said, he wouldn't want the mother of his children to die... would he?

"I can't say, sweetling. My talent for predicting people and their actions can only go so far," Baelish admitted, faux pity on his face and in his tone. Sansa stared at him, fear in her eyes. She couldn't lose another family member.

Not for the first time, she longed for Winterfell. She longed for Robb and Mother and Father and her brothers and Lyarra and even Arya. She longed for safety and simplicity.

She longed for home.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Some of you were wondering why Lyarra didn't try to get Sansa. I honestly hadn't considered it but after Joffrey dies, Lyarra's in a world of her own and is a bit out of it. She's not thinking clearly. And when Jaime reminds her that she'll probably be blamed, adrenaline kicks in and she realises that she has to get the hell out of King's Landing with her son. So she doesn't really think of Sansa.

Also, Lyarra is going to Casterly Rock instead of going north or to the Vale or wherever because she thinks she'll be safer in Casterly Rock. If she goes north, she's going to the Boltons. She doesn't really know her aunt and also there's a mountain range between King's Landing and the Vale that are filled with dangerous mountain clans. As well as that, Lyarra believes Jaime when he says he's going to help her take back Winterfell for her family. Whether he'll hold to that or not...

She will eventually go north, as those of you who have watched the trailer know. But I don't think she's a strong enough person yet to rally the northern lords to fight for her. There's character development to be had before any of that happens.

Just a warning- chapters may become a little less frequent just for the next month. I have exams coming up but after that I'll be on holidays so I can get back to writing more fanfiction.

Anyway, I'd love to hear what you think! As always, reviews are super appreciated!


	25. Reigning Pains

**Reigning Pains**

Now that they were accompanied by soldiers – even though their protectors were worse than inadequate – Brienne and Lyarra enjoyed a slower pace than they had before. They stopped at inns and had access to food, water and medicine without having to scavenge from it. Even though she had only spent a few weeks without the luxuries of a highborn lady, it took some time to adjust to having everything handed to her again. The change was welcome, of course, but it made Lyarra realise how fortunate she was to have been born to the right people and into the right family.

Although it was still very noticeable and Lyarra hadn't quite managed to get all the blood out of his hair, Lyarra believed Jon's wound was healing fast enough. She fretted over what the maester at the Golden Tooth had said, that Jon would be less mentally able because of his fall. Lyarra did notice that his responses were slower and his words more jumbled, but she tried not to think about it. When the wound healed, Jon would be back to normal. She hoped and prayed for that. She wouldn't be able to forgive herself for letting him fall if he suffered permanent damage. She hated herself enough for it already.

As they approached Casterly Rock, Lyarra felt relief wash over her. It wasn't home. It didn't feel like home and probably never would, but at least she was safe here. More than once during her travels with Brienne she had considered going north. But then sense kicked in and she realised that the North was a dangerous place for her, what with the Boltons in power. Someday, she would return home, but hopefully with an army at her back and Jaime by her side.

From half a mile away, Lyarra noticed Genna standing outside the keep, watching them approach Casterly Rock. Lyarra smiled at her, but only received a thoughtful look in response. Lyarra dismounted her horse with Jon in her arms and walked over to Genna.

"I saw the horses approaching and I could scarcely believe it," Genna said. Her face was devoid of any smile or trace of happiness that showed she was in any way glad to see her good-niece. Instead, she looked tired and suspicious. "Forgive me, but why are you here, Lyarra? And without Jaime?"

"Joffrey was poisoned at his wedding," Lyarra told her. Genna nodded. She was probably told the news by Tywin himself in one of his letters. "Jaime thought I was likely to be blamed for the murder so I fled."

"Jaime's cleverer than I remember then," Genna quipped. Lyarra noticed then that Genna looked thinner and frail. It was a word she never thought she'd use to describe the calculating, fierce Genna Lannister, but the older woman seemed to have turned into a shell of who she used to be in the time Lyarra was gone. Lyarra decided to say nothing of it and embraced Genna, who then turned to Jon with a doting smile on her lips. "You don't remember me, I take it?" Jon shook his head. Genna smiled sadly. "No matter. We'll just have to make up for lost time, hm? I'm Genna, your father's aunt."

"So you my aunt?" Jon stated.

"I am, son," Genna responded, examining the cut on his head. She looked up at Lyarra questioningly. Lyarra shook her head, the same feeling of shame twisting her stomach as she urged Genna to drop the subject. She couldn't even keep her child safe from harm and was too ashamed of herself to speak about it. Genna gave her one last confused look before she dropped it. "Come, I'll get the maids to fetch you some supper." She nodded to Lyarra then. "You too, my dear. And who is this?"

"Brienne of Tarth," Lyarra introduced the tall woman beside her. "She accompanied me from King's Landing. And she escorted Jaime from my brother's camp to King's Landing."

Genna stared at the female knight with narrowed, curious eyes. She never pegged Genna as the type of person to hold to tradition and criticise those who do not, given Genna's own untraditional role as regent in her brother's stead. However, Lyarra knew better than to blindly trust her own naive assessment of people anymore. "I suppose you'd like some supper then, Lady Brienne, after all your rescuing."

"She just goes by Brienne," Lyarra corrected.

"Very well. It's all the same," Genna responded. She turned to Brienne, a small, teasing smile on her lips. "But does she want supper?"

"Yes, my lady," Brienne replied, politely inclining her head. "I would be glad for it."

"Come on then," Genna said, urging them to follow her inside the keep.

Lyarra followed Genna towards the Great Hall. The servants gave her, Brienne, Jon and the soldiers who accompanied them home a bowl of broth and some bread. She received many "welcome home's" from the servants and workers of Casterly Rock, and some hushed condolences as well. She was glad to see that not everyone in Casterly Rock was Tywin Lannister's minion.

"I got a terrible shock when I heard of Joffrey's death," Genna admitted. "A young boy, having barely reached his adult years. It was a sad day." Instead of sadness, Genna's expression was calculating, her eyes narrowed as she gauged Lyarra's reaction.

Tilting her head to the side, Lyarra gave her aunt an unimpressed look. They all thought she was guilty. Even Brienne seemed to doubt her innocence. Of course, Lyarra didn't blame them and understood their suspicion. She had enough reason to want Joffrey dead. She was just insulted that they thought her stupid enough to kill the king in plain sight.

"I know what you're doing," Lyarra told her humourlessly, her tone a plain deadpan.

"Whatever do you mean, my dear?" Genna asked innocently.

"You're looking for my reaction," Lyarra answered. "You think I did it."

Sighing, Genna leaned back in her chair and started to speak honestly and plainly. "I think that you had as fine a motive as any," Genna stated. "Joffrey may have been my relation, but he was a foul little boy. It's a mercy that he's dead."

The Lannisters were all as manipulative as each other. Perhaps southerners in general was manipulative. Genna was trying to relate to Lyarra, make her feel safe and secure, make her feel as though Genna would understand even if she had killed Joffrey. Again, it only served to insult her intelligence. She wasn't the stupid little girl she was four years ago when she married Jaime. She wouldn't fall for barely concealed schemes like these.

"Be that as it may," Lyarra replied, struggling to keep her tone even and devoid of anger as she wiped her mouth and finished her meal. "I didn't do it. I'm not that stupid." She stood up and helped Jon stand up, noticing how her son swayed and stumbled as he tried to get up onto his feet. "Come now, my love. Time for bed. Goodnight, my lady. Brienne."

Genna gave her a short nod in response, watching Lyarra closely with two narrowed emeralds for eyes. Lyarra held Jon's hand in hers and walked out of the Great Hall, her entire body shaking as she seethed with anger. Joffrey's death would follow her like a shadow. She was relieved and overjoyed that he was dead, but perhaps her life would have been simpler if he stayed alive. Then she wouldn't be accused of killing her king by everyone who dared voice such an accusation – and they were many.

She brought Jon to his new room. It was the room next to hers and Jaime's. Decorated with paintings of flowers and horses and shelves holding wooden toys, his new room was a great deal smaller than the one he was used to. "This is where you'll be sleeping from now on."

"With you?" he asked, his eyes wide and worried.

"No, my dear. Not with me." She had promised Jaime. Even if he wasn't here, Lyarra had enough sense to know that he was right. Jon had to become more independent and so did she.

"Why?" Jon said, his voice trembling as tears gathered in his eyes.

"Because you're a big boy now," she told him, forcing a smile on her lips. "Big boys can't sleep with their mothers." She saw tears fall down her son's cheek. Her heart broke to see him so upset. She wiped his tears away, nearly crying herself. "Oh, Jon, please don't cry. I'll be with you until you go to sleep. You won't even notice I'm not there."

"Promise?"

Lyarra nodded and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Promise."

* * *

Jaime spent his days like any other lord. He sparred with Bronn daily, although his lack of skill was contradictory to how a knight or lord _should_ fight, and attended council meetings when he was bid. That was something he couldn't quite understood – all the members of the council, _including his father and sister_ , knew just how useless he was when it came to politics and diplomacy, and yet they kept insisting he attend. Did they think burdening him with boring council meetings would, all of a sudden, make him a good leader? Or increase his loyalty to his family? Hadn't he proven his loyalty enough throughout the years?

It seemed to him that for his father and for Cersei, he would never be enough, especially now he didn't have his right hand. The only person who had accepted him for what he was, an arrogant knight and now a useless cripple, was Tyrion. And now his brother was imprisoned in a cell and he, _the useless cripple_ , could do nothing about it.

He was on his way to his father's solar when a Lannister guard stood in his way and told him that the queen wished to see him. Jaime felt the urge to roll his eyes and strangle the boy out of frustration. He loved his sister dearly, but he had always been aware of her many faults. Cersei felt that he was drifting away and she took every opportunity to wrangle him back in.

Gently, he knocked on her door, waiting for her to tell him to come in. When she did, he entered her room and stood awkwardly by the door, waiting for her to address him or even turn around. Cersei never did, instead choosing to stare at the wall as she swirled her glass of wine.

"You wished to see me," he said eventually, loathing the silence.

"I did," Cersei replied. "I've been wondering... it's all I can think about, really. Why did Catelyn Stark set you free?"

"I told you," Jaime asserted, walking towards his sister. Even though their romantic relationship had ended, he still cared about her, more than a brother should. "She wanted me to return her daughters to her."

"And will you?" Cersei asked him.

Jaime blinked, not quite understanding the question. As of late, Cersei had continuously shocked him. Losing Joffrey had affected her greatly. Sometimes, Jaime wondered if she was losing her mind. "Catelyn Stark is dead."

"I know that," Cersei growled, rising to her feet. She approached him until her face was only inches from his, until he could feel her wine-scented breath on his cheek. "Did you intend to keep your oath to her, when you left?"

"I imagined Father would agree. If I was home, he would have no reason to keep the Stark girls."

Her eyes were narrowed into thin, green slits. Her face, contorted with rage, soon morphed into a mocking sort of joy as she threw her head back and laughed at him. "You magnificent _idiot_ ," Cersei chided. "You complete and utter fool. Father would have wanted to keep the Stark girls until the war was over as hostages in case Robb Stark got the upper-hand. You never listened to him. You never cared to learn from him. And yet you're his prized heir. _His perfect son_." Cersei spat the words out like they were venom and glanced down at his hand, a scoff on her lips. Jaime understood the meaning.

"You're drunk," Jaime commented, as if that erased the effect of what she said.

"That doesn't matter. Even when drunk, I am twice as intelligent as _you_ ," she spat. "What would you have done if you came back and Father refused to give the Stark girls back to their mother?"

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, not wanting to answer the question. "Why does that matter to you?"

"Just answer the question, Jaime. What would you have done?" she ordered him, poking her finger into his chest. He felt her weight against him. Her entire body was leaning on him, as though she was about to collapse. He grabbed her arms gently to keep her up.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I didn't think about that."

"No surprise. You never think about anything." Cersei straightened herself and walked away from him, seating herself at the end of her bed. "But your deal with Catelyn Stark seems to mean more to you than you make out. I mean, I understand why. As much as you despised Ned Stark, you admired him too. His honour, his infallible ability to always do the right thing no matter the situation. He was respected and admired. You envied that, didn't you? So when his wife, the honourable, dutiful Catelyn Stark asks you do the right and honourable thing by delivering her daughter back to her, you eagerly swear an oath to her. And it moves you, does it not? I know you, Jaime. You may mock knightly chivalry and honour and gallantry, but you've always wanted to be the good knight. You swore an oath to the Stark woman and you meant to keep it. So tell me, what would you have done?"

Jaime tried to hide his reaction. Cersei always understood him too well and when it suited her, she liked to use that against him. Even now, when she had just tore into him and ripped him apart like it meant nothing to her, he still loved her. What kind of man did that make him?

"You're right," Jaime admitted. He licked his lips and looked away from her, unable to stand the look she was giving him "I wanted to do the right thing, to keep my oath to her. I would have taken the Stark girls away from here had Catelyn Stark been alive and had Father not agreed to let them go."

"You would have betrayed your family. Betrayed _me_ ," was Cersei's accusation. He heard venom and seething rage in her voice. It made him flinch.

Nevertheless, he reminded himself he had nothing to be ashamed of. Returning the Stark girls to Lady Catelyn would have been the right thing to do, the honourable thing. He was a knight. He was supposed to be honourable. He looked her in his sister in the eye and told her the truth, "Yes. I would have."

"What happened to you?" Cersei asked, her voice taking on an accusatory tone yet again. Only this time, he heard a mixture disgust and shock in her tone as well. It didn't seem as though she wanted him to answer. Jaime knew replying would only fuel her anger even more. "I need you, Jaime. Now more than ever. I need you by my side."

Her body started to shake as sobs rippled through her. She dropped the glass of wine on the ground. Jaime watched as the glass shattered and the blood-coloured wine stained the carpet. He rushed over to Cersei, feeling his heart break at the sight of his beautiful sister looking as shattered as the broken glass on the ground. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, whispering reassurances into her ear.

"I'm scared, Jaime. I'm so scared," she sobbed against him, her frame rattling.

"Scared of what? Tell me what it is and I'll fix it."

"He's going to get away with it," Cersei stated. Jaime understood immediately what she meant. "He's going to get away with killing our boy, _our son_. That monster murdered our son and he's going to find a way to weasel his way out of it! He always does. I need you to help me. Help me get justice for our son!"

Jaime pulled away from her and stared at her for a moment. There was hope in her eyes, but not a pure kind of hope. She was trying to manipulate him. A few years ago, he would have fallen for it. But not now. Not when it came to Tyrion. "He didn't do it, Cersei," he replied, his voice as firm as his belief in his brother.

"You've always pitied him. Our poor little brother!" Cersei scoffed and pulled away from him. "He did it. I know he did it! Why won't you believe me?"

"Because I know he didn't. He's not stupid enough to kill Joff when he knew he'd be the one blamed for it! You can call him many things, Cersei, but Tyrion has never been stupid."

"Then who was it then?" Cersei asked him, whipping herself around to face him yet again. Her face was contorted with rage, her eyes burning with it. She was beautiful when she was angry. She was always beautiful, but anger suited her best. "The people with the best motives are our brother, your wilful wife and Sansa Stark. Will you kill them for me instead?"

"Cersei, you're not being reasonable-"

"If I asked you to go find Sansa and bring that murderous little bitch to me, would you do it?" Cersei questioned Jaime, standing right in front of him again. Her eyes bore into him. He wanted to say yes, to promise her that he was loyal only to her, but he couldn't anymore. Jaime pressed his lips together and looked away. "Of course." Cersei scoffed, understanding what his answer really was despite his silence. "And your pretty young wife – would you bring her head to me?" Jaime turned his head to look at her, wide-eyed and shocked that she would ask such a thing. His pregnant wife, the mother of his son, how could Cersei ever expect him to harm her? Cersei laughed bitterly. You've betrayed me. All our lives, it was just the two of us. And now this? You choosing your murdering little whore of a wife over me?"

"You're asking me to kill my pregnant wife, the mother of my child. You realise that, don't you?" Jaime asked her, disgusted.

"Do you love her?"

"What?"

Cersei scoffed, a mocking smirk on her lips. "It's a simple question, even for you. Do you love her?"

He couldn't help but stare at Cersei as he considered her question. He had only ever known one sort of love. That love may have been twisted and volatile, but it was undoubtedly love. He realised that he had never felt anything more than concern for his wife. He cared about her deeply and he enjoyed her company, but it was nothing more. Jaime didn't think it could ever be more. "No," he finally answered.

His reply immediately elicited a smile from his sister as she stepped closer to him, pressing her hand against his chest. He cursed himself for responding so eagerly to her touch. "And do you love me?" she asked him.

For the first time, he felt disgusted with himself for loving her. Not because of stupid customs and taboo, but because of how easily he fell into old habits when he thought he had become better, when he had a wife in Casterly Rock who was expecting their second child. Maybe he was never going to become better. Maybe he just couldn't.

"Always," he admitted, defeat washing over him as another wave of loathing hit him.

Grinning, Cersei pressed her lips against him in a heated kiss. Her lips were needy and desperate, and he responded to them easily, melting into the familiar touch. He kissed her back, his tongue melding with hers. He felt her hand travelling down to his cock. He yearned for her touch, for her body, for her cunt, but it didn't feel as it had before. It didn't feel like they were two parts of a whole. He wasn't yearning for his other part, his other side. It felt wrong.

He pulled away from her and rushed out of the room, not daring to look back. He heard the sound of glass shattering against the wall and a loud, anguished roar. Tears formed in his eyes that he pushed away immediately. He wanted to tell Cersei that he felt the same, but he knew that if he went inside that room, he wouldn't come out until the next morning. He wanted better than that for himself, for his family, so he refused to turn back.

* * *

"Mother, where are we going?"

Lyarra lifted Jon into her arms and pressed a kiss to his forehead, a large smile on her face. "There's someone I want to introduce you to again. You were very young when you saw her last. She's very special to me."

"Oh?"

"Oh," she responded, grinning. They were flanked by two guards that Tywin commanded to watch her at all times. The lack of privacy annoyed her, yet Lyarra had learned over the past week to just ignore them. "Stay outside," she told the guards, who looked hesitant to obey her. "Can I please just have a few moments alone with my son? Is that too much to ask for?" she snapped at them.

Hesitant, one of the guards – the older one – nodded his head reluctantly. "Very well."

Lyarra nodded back to them and gave Jon another smile before heading inside the kennels. She hadn't been to see Fang since she arrived back, too preoccupied with the running of the castle. She set Jon on the ground and went over to Fang's cage. A large smile stretched across her face as soon as she set eyes on her wolf. Seeing Fang again felt like she was being reunited with apart of herself. She was all she had left of home, of her family. Every time she locked her up, she felt as though she was locking away a part of herself. And every time Lyarra let her out, she felt free.

She wrapped her arms around her wolf and buried her face into Fang's black fur. "I've missed you," she told her, wetting the wolf's coat with her tears. She pulled away from Fang and rubbed the back of her ear, causing Fang's lips to perk upwards in what looked like a smile.

Laughing at the wolf's antics, Lyarra gestured for Jon to join them. "Come on over, she won't bite," Lyarra told him. Jon stayed rooted to where he was, on the other side of the kennels, eyeing Fang fearfully. Lyarra frowned. Jon hadn't been afraid of Fang before. "She won't hurt you. You're a Stark. A wolf. Wolves don't hurt their own."

"But I'm a Lannister. A lion," Jon argued back. "That's what grandfather said."

More often than Lyarra liked, Tywin had visited Jon in the nursery to make sure Lyarra wasn't turning him against the Lannisters. Jon would be Lord of Casterly Rock one day, and Lyarra supposed that Tywin didn't want Lyarra turning his heir into anything less than a loyal Lannister, devout to his family.

A small sigh escaped her lips. She stretched out her arm and beckoned Jon to come over again. "Maybe you can be both," Lyarra told him. "I've never told you this, but you look just like my father. He was a good man. An honourable man. And he was a Stark, a wolf, just like us. You may bear the name Lannister and wear their coat of arms, but you are a Stark too. So come on. Say hello to Fang."

Still somewhat hesitant, Jon nodded his head and slowly walked over to his mother and Fang. "What do I do?" he asked his mother, looking to her for instructions.

She chuckled. "Put out your hand." Jon looked at her as though she was mad. Lyarra laughed again. "Don't worry. She won't bite you. She'll only ever bite the people that harm us. Like I said, wolves are loyal creatures. There you go."

Jon stretched out his arm and offered the wolf his hand. Fang stuck out her tongue and licked Jon's hand, lathering it in drool. Jon laughed heartily and flinched back in disgust, showing his mother what Fang had done. "That's normal," Lyarra told him, pinching his cheek. "That means she likes you."

"Can I play with her?" Jon asked, rubbing the area behind Fang's ear just as he had seen his mother do.

Glad that Jon was no longer afraid of Fang, Lyarra nodded happily. "Of course you may. I think she'll enjoy a run around the grounds. She's been cooped up in here for only the gods know how long. Come. I'm going to bring her out."

Jumping up and down excitedly, Jon followed Lyarra as she led the wolf out of the kennels. The guards glanced wearily at the wolf and stepped away from Fang. "My lady, I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why not? She's trained. She won't hurt anyone," Lyarra argued, though the two guards did not look convinced. She spotted a person walking towards them. She narrowed her eyes to get a better look. "Is that Creylen?" she asked the guards who followed her line of sight. Lyarra didn't think she'd ever seen the maester outdoors before. He preferred to stay cooped up in his solar. Lyarra had a funny feeling that something was wrong.

She waddled towards him, resting her hand on her large stomach that was greatly affecting her ability to walk normally. Seeing the look of distress on Creylen's face, Lyarra became worried. "Maester, what is it?"

"Peckledon has passed away," he told her. "His wife sent a letter... he caught a fever yesterday and passed away during the night."

Lyarra turned to the guards. "Watch him and bring him inside in an hour."

"With the wolf?" the smaller guard asked, a slight fear in his voice.

Rolling her eyes, she responded to them wearily. "Fang won't hurt you. He might bite a little, but I assure you, you'll retain most of your limbs."

Without further explanation, she joined Creylen as they walked inside the keep. "Is Peckledon's wife still here?"

"No. She had to go back to her house to make arrangements for the burial," Creylen informed her as they approached Creylen's solar. He invited her to sit down, an offer she eagerly accepted. "We need to find a replacement."

"Do we have the means to finance one? As tragic as it is to lose a valued member of our household, we have too many people to pay and to feed in this keep. We could barely afford Peckledon. Maybe the office of steward should be left unoccupied," she told Creylen.

In response, the maester's eyes went wide. "You can't be serious. We need a steward. We have never not had a steward. It is a requirement for any noble house. Who else is going to do the accounts?"

"I already do the household accounts," Lyarra argued, lying back in the chair and placing her hands on her bulging stomach. "I'll study Peckledon's regional accounts and I'll do them myself."

"A steward doesn't just do the accounts, my lady. They organise debts, repayments, investments, and you already have the duties of the Lady of Casterly Rock. It's too much for one person," Creylen objected. Lyarra didn't think he quite understood how serious their financial situation was.

"Can I see the last account Peckledon made out?" Lyarra asked. Without a word, Creylen went to get it. He handed it to her with a pinched look on his face. "Thank you," she said and began to analyse it. "Lord Tywin has been using the gold from our mines to fund the crown. We are the only source of income for the entirety of Westeros. As long as a relative of Tywin Lannister sits on the throne, they will need Lannister gold. We need to make some radical changes to how our keep and our kingdom is run if we want to avoid drowning in debt by years end. Not to mention that winter is nearly here."

"But the mines, my lady," Creylen argued. "In a few years, the Castamere mines will be open and we'll have a new source of income. Until then, we just need to keep our heads afloat."

Lyarra sighed and buried her head in her hands, an immense amount of stress washing over her. "Very well. I'll look over the accounts and see if there is anything else we can do to reduce expenditure. You may leave now, maester. Thank you for your counsel."

She barely noticed the maester leaving. Lyarra spent the night staring at figures until the numbers meant nothing to her anymore. She completely lost track of time and before she knew it, Lyarra felt herself being shook awake and heard a familiar voice shout into her ear, repeating her name over and over again. She opened her eyes, just realising then that she had fallen asleep while buried beneath all the accounts. She saw Genna looming over her, a questioning look on her face.

Still drowsy from sleep, she rubbed her eyes and sat up, leaning back in the chair. "I was looking at the accounts," Lyarra explained. "Did you know that we owe the Iron Bank more than six thousand dragons? Where are we supposed to find that kind of money?"

"Loans can be paid back in instalments over a long period of time," Genna assured her as she poured herself a glass of wine.

"Yes, I know that," Lyarra replied, looking through the accounts again. "But if we continue to live the way we do without any kind of cutbacks, this loan will span generations. It'll be years into my son's tenure as lord of Casterly Rock when the loan is fully paid back. Maybe even his son's after him. Things have to change."

Genna stared at her for a moment, taking in her good-niece's worn expression. She sighed and took a sip of her drink. "Peckledon told me of your plans to leave the office of steward empty. He believed he successfully dissuaded you, but I know you, Lyarra. You're more stubborn than that."

"It's an expensive position. It takes months to train in a steward and for those months, he is a useless member of the household _and_ an expense. I understand the accounts. Between Maester Creylen and I we can fill in for a steward without having to hire one," Lyarra explained.

"You are the Lady of Casterly Rock," Genna reminded her, as though she had forgotten. "The Lady of Casterly Rock is not supposed to be its steward. You can't fill two positions at once, Lyarra."

"Then you can fill the role of the Lady of Casterly Rock," she suggested. Genna sighed and looked away from her, becoming thoughtful. Lyarra continued to plead her case. "I've learned enough from Peckledon to know how to be a steward. It's the only way, Genna. We don't have enough money to pay a steward."

As Genna pursed her lips and became quiet and thoughtful, Lyarra took a moment to really look at her aunt. Only then did Lyarra realise how tired Genna looked. Her face was worn and pale. She had lost weight as well. Something was wrong with her. She wanted to ask, but Lyarra didn't think it was her place.

"Very well," Genna finally agreed. "I suppose it could help reduce expenses. We'll see how it goes."

Realising that was the best she was going to get, Lyarra gave Genna a weak smile and nodded.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So I'm finished my exams, finally! I'm back to writing fanfiction again and this story is my priority. Just to let you guys know, this story won't be finished for a long time because I'm planning for it to span all eight seasons and I don't want to rush anything. Updates should be up nearly every week during the weekend.

Anyway, let me know what you thought of this chapter!


	26. Rise By Sin

**Rise By Sin**

As she took her seat at the head table that overlooked the great hall, Lyarra's mind went back to a very similar situation that occurred just over two years ago – the day she named Damon Hill the Lord of Silverhill and angered two of the most powerful houses in Westeros. Once she realised the mistake she had made, Lyarra just knew that her decision would one day come to bite her in the behind. But she was smarter than she had been, and older too. She could handle this.

Damon Hill – now Serrett – sauntered towards the head table, ignoring the whispering lords and ladies of the Westerlands who scowled at who they believed to be an up jumped bastard. He wore the same confident smirk and carried himself with the same arrogance. The girlish part of Lyarra still found him irresistible, yet she was a woman now and less vulnerable than she had been, or so she liked to think.

"Lady Lannister," Lord Damon greeted with a flamboyant bow. Lyarra kept her face even, even if she was internally swooning. Without having to look at Genna beside her, she felt her good-aunt stiffen. Damon continued to speak as confidently as ever, ignoring the whispers and Genna's scowl, "I am, unfortunately, here to ask you for a quite the favour."

Lyarra narrowed her eyes at him. She'd heard about the situation already. Now that the War of the Five Kings was seemingly over, Lord Roland Crakehall had returned home and sought justice for what he perceived as his son and heir being robbed of his birthright.

"I know of your predicament," Lyarra replied, her voice echoing throughout the Great Hall. She used to loath holding court, now it was her favourite aspect of being a regent. She enjoyed having power, far more than she had ever expected. "And I sympathise, truly. But there is little we can do. The war has exhausted our forces and supplies and we are only beginning to rebuild."

"Lord Crakehall is gathering a host to march on Silverhill as we speak," Damon informed her. "He wants to sack Silverhill and take it for his son. My lady, two years ago, you put your trust in me and made me the Lord of Silverhill because you thought I was worthy. I stand here, asking for the same thing. Only this time it's a little more costly."

She stared at him for a moment, her mind going back to that night where she nearly lay with him. He had seen her naked, physically and emotionally. That connection hadn't died. Yet she was smart enough now to put aside silly emotions when it came to ruling an entire kingdom in the most dangerous man in Westeros' stead.

Quickly, she tried to consider the situation from both angles. If she helped him, she was putting more cost on the Lannisters when they were already in debt. However, if she didn't help him, it seemed as though she was going back on her decision, a choice that would make her seem flighty and weak to the lords of the Westerlands.

"This matter is about more than trust," she reminded him. "Like I said, we don't have the means to help you."

"I don't need much, my lady." Damon stepped closer to the head table, but not close enough that the Lannister guards felt the obligation to react. "Lord Crakehall has four thousand men. I have two and a half thousand."

"How many men are you expecting us to forward?" Lyarra asked.

"Not _expecting_ , my lady. I'm _hoping_ ," he corrected her, wearing that familiar smirk on his face. Lyarra rolled her eyes, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "About two thousand, to be certain of victory. But two thousand should be enough, considering that we will be on the defensive."

Silently, Lyarra mulled over what Damon had said. She could see Genna frowning beside her. Her good-aunt was an intelligent diplomat and a good tactician, but she was trapped by traditional views. She didn't understand that sometimes, it was necessary to break out of the restrictive mould of tradition. But Lyarra did – she had when she chose Damon to be the Lord of Silverhill. She had viewed that decision as a grave mistake, but maybe it wasn't. After all, Damon had proven himself to be a great leader and well-loved by his people, if not by the nobility.

Having made her decision, Lyarra met Damon's gaze and nodded her head in affirmation. "House Lannister offers you our support," she told him, ignoring the looks some of their noble audience shared. "You'll have two thousand of our infantry and two hundred cavalry. Does that suit your needs?"

"Perfectly, my lady. Thank you," he replied in true gratitude. He bowed to her again, lower this time.

Lyarra gave him one last nod to indicate that he could leave. Damon offered her another bright smile and left the Great Hall. Lyarra walked out before Genna could start scolding her over her decision. Not taking the hint, Genna followed her out.

"What were you thinking?" Genna hissed once they were alone in Lyarra's solar. She shut the door behind her and turned around to face Lyarra, a deathly glare on her pale face. Genna had become sick in the last few months, and her sickness made her temper worsen. Lyarra couldn't do anything right these days.

Not wanting to upset Genna, Lyarra spoke to her in an even, controlled tone. "What I thought was the right thing to do, as always," Lyarra replied, turning on her heel to go to her desk. Before she could turn around, Genna grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

"I thought you'd learned. I thought you'd gotten rid of those stupid, noble notions your father had you believing–"

"– _I have_ ," Lyarra insisted, her voice coming out as a growl.

"But today, you proved me wrong," Genna snapped, ignoring Lyarra's insistence that she had changed. "Morally, maybe that was the right thing to do. He's a good man. An honourable man. But a useless ally. You had the chance to right your wrongs and back Tybolt Crakehall's claim, and you just threw that away!"

Lyarra ripped her hand out of Genna's. The elder woman stumbled at the sudden loss of support and started to wobble. Instinctively, Lyarra held her shoulders and steadied her. Without saying a word about it, Lyarra gave Genna a nod and only let go once she was sure Genna was steady enough to keep herself standing.

"I didn't choose to back Damon Serrett's claim because it's what my father would have done or because it was noble," Lyarra admitted, unable to keep her tone even this time. "I did it because Lord Damon has done nothing but prove himself a suitable leader since he became Lord of Silverhill. More importantly, _I_ made him the Lord of Silverhill. That was _my_ decision, _my_ decree. If I go back on that, I show weakness."

"You don't have to go back on that," Genna replied, shakily seating herself on the chair opposite Lyarra's desk. "You don't have to do anything. If the boy cannot keep his castle, then perhaps he does not deserve to have the at all."

"He is a vassal of ours who needs our protection."

"And what of Crakehall? Is he not our vassal as well?"

"He's attacking-"

"There's no need to pretend with me, Lyarra," Genna interrupted, her tone one of biting sarcasm. "I was young as well once, you know. Damon Hill is handsome and charming and you were but a young girl. He made you swoon. You made a mistake. It's all done and dusted."

A harsh, bloody cough interrupted the older woman as she doubled over and started coughing and wheezing, a small stream of blood trickling down her lips. Lyarra rushed to Genna's side, forgetting all about her large, pregnant stomach as she kneeled down beside her good-aunt and patted her back.

Not even a hacking cough could stop Genna from getting out what she wanted to say. In fact, her tone became even harsher. "Now it's time to pick up the pieces" – more coughing, only this time it was a shorter fit – "and start acting like a real leader instead of playing as one."

She felt as though Genna had slapped her. Lyarra backed away from the sick woman, her gut twisting. It wasn't often that Genna wholly supported Lyarra's decisions. Most of their relationship was filled with bickering, yet Genna had never criticised Lyarra like that. She had never questioned her role as a leader, only her decisions.

Torn between the desire to comfort Genna and the desire to leave her on her own to deal with her sickness, Lyarra decided to find someone else to deal with her. Silently, she left her solar and found her handmaiden. Having only arrived a few days ago, Rhea was still unpacking when Lyarra found her.

"Rhea, will you tend to my good-aunt? She's in my solar," Lyarra told her, her voice becoming surprisingly cold.

Though confused, Rhea knew better than to risk Lyarra's anger when she was like this. She inclined her head and murmured her consent before exiting her room. Lyarra placed her hand on her stomach and sighed. She had thought life would be easier when she left King's Landing and returned to Casterly Rock, but her life was still difficult, just in a different manner.

Once she was calmed down, Lyarra took a deep breath and exited the servant's quarters. She wanted nothing more than to sleep. Her back ached from pregnancy and she felt herself becoming moody, a mixture of her surroundings, the aches and pains of pregnancy and the way being with child messed with her head.

She spotted Creylen approaching her, a look of recognition appearing on his face that indicated he was looking for her. She spotted something else in his expression too – grief, perhaps? Lyarra resisted the urge to groan. She didn't need this. She didn't trust herself to not bite his head off, what with the mood she was in.

"My lady, I've been looking all for you," he told her. "I checked your solar and only Lady Genna was inside."

"We had an argument," Lyarra admitted, not stopping to speak with Maester Creylen and striding straight past him. He walked with her blindly, not even knowing where she was heading to. Honestly, Lyarra didn't even know where she was heading to. Her rooms, she supposed, since Rhea had probably tended to Genna by now.

"Was it about the dispute over Silverhill?" Creylen questioned, giving Lyarra a cautious look. Since when had she become a terrifying enough person to make people so anxious around her and so fearful of her reactions? She remembered resenting Jaime for that same quality and now here she was, the exact same.

She shook her head, trying to remember what Creylen had asked her. "Yes, it was. Genna doesn't agree with my decision." She turned her head to look at the old maester who was avoiding looking her in the eye. Lyarra nodded in understanding, and perhaps in resentment as well. "And neither do you."

"I respect your decision, my lady. But it is my duty as your maester to advise and counsel you in situation such as these," Creylen told her. Lyarra nodded again, hoping that the understanding action would calm him somewhat. She didn't want her household to fear her. She never wanted that. Judging by his more open demeanour, Lyarra had succeeded. "While I think it's unwise to oppose a strong house such as House Crakehall in favour of a much less valuable ally, I also think it's unwise to go back on your decision now."

"That we can agree on," Lyarra replied. Her eyes travelled to the letter he had in his hand.

Creylen followed her gaze and sighed. "I received this only a few minutes ago," he admitted, handing the letter to her. "Lord Tywin is dead, my lady. Killed by his own son."

" _What_?" Lyarra blurted before she could stop herself.

She ripped open the letter and scanned through it quickly. It was in Jaime's untidy scrawl. Tyrion had escaped from King's Landing, Tywin was dead (killed by Tyrion, not Jaime to her relief) and Jaime was coming home to bury his father. Lyarra felt nothing but relief upon reading that Tywin Lannister was dead, after all he'd done to her family. But a part of her felt sorry for Jaime. Tywin was his father after all. Though they had a complicated relationship, Lyarra knew he loved his father in some odd way, just as Tywin loved him.

"Have the bells rang," Lyarra told Creylen, remembering protocol as soon as she finished reading Jaime's letter. She suddenly felt very awake. "And send out letters to all the houses in the Westerlands and our allies."

"Very well, my lady."

He started to walk away. A thought popped into Lyarra's mind. Now that Tywin was dead, she had full reign over the Westerlands for the time being now that Genna was sick. "Creylen," she called. The maester turned around inquisitively. "Gather our forces. Two thousand infantry and two hundred cavalry. They'll march to Silverhill tomorrow."

She noticed the slight look of shock, mingled with some disgust, that crossed Creylen's face. She knew it was distasteful to be thinking of politics when she was supposed to be thinking of her husband's loss and mourning her good-father, but Lyarra cared nothing for Tywin and she had no intention of pretending that she did.

He gritted his teeth together and tried to hide his displeasure at her order. "Should we not wait for Ser Jaime to return home, my lady?"

"This can't wait," Lyarra stated firmly. "And Jaime will be busy burying his father. I don't want to burden him with this. Damon Serrett can command our forces. He's an honourable man. I trust him."

His teeth still gritted together, Creylen nodded his head and voiced his agreement, though his tone was cold and stubborn. Lyarra didn't care. The relief she felt because of Tywin's death far outweighed propriety. She watched the maester walk away, a slow smirk spreading across her lips as she turned around and threw her head back, overcome with glee.

She rested her hand on her stomach, revelling in the fact that her second-born child would never have to know his monstrous grandfather. Jaime would not have Lannister spies watching over her shoulder as she raised their children like Tywin had. She was free of all that now, free of being treated like a traitor.

Because with Tywin dead, some of Cersei's influence died with him as well.

Before long, King Tommen would be controlled by Margaery and Cersei would be valueless. Lyarra had seen how much love Jaime had for Jon and he'd love this child as well. Surely Jaime would put his family before her, his living, breathing, legitimate children above the incestuous children he had with Cersei, the ones he was forbidden from being a father to.

Lyarra pushed away those thoughts as quickly as they came into her head. She didn't like to think about Jaime and Cersei's relationship. It brought up a whole lot of feelings and resentment inside of her that she wanted to stay buried.

* * *

A week after she received his letter and six days since Damon Serrett departed Casterly Rock flanked by 2,200 Lannister men, Jaime arrived at Casterly Rock, accompanied by the majority of Lannister guards that had been stationed in King's Landing.

From her window, Lyarra saw Tywin Lannister's coffin inside a horse-drawn carriage. Only then did it dawn on her truly – the mighty Tywin was really dead, and they were all free of his overbearing influence.

Her eyes travelled to the front of the procession and landed on her husband. He had spotted her as well. Their eyes met and Lyarra felt as though he could see through her, as though he could see the joy she felt at his father's death. What kind of wife did that make her? That she felt only happiness at his father's death?

She removed Jon from her hip and placed him on the ground, leading him down the stairs by the hand as he jumped up and down on the balls of his feet, overwhelmed by excitement. It had been only a few months since he last saw his father, yet to a child as young as him it must have felt like years. Their family never had the chance to _pretend_ to be traditional or even to be altogether in the one place for longer than three months. Maybe this was their chance.

Lyarra waited for them in the courtyard, her son by her side. Atop his white horse, Jaime entered the courtyard, flanked by almost three hundred men. As soon as he saw her, his eyes widened at the sight of her huge, pregnant stomach. Lyarra laughed and rested her hand on the bump. She supposed she looked very different from the last time he saw her.

"You're massive," he stated, climbing off his horse to join them. He gave her a peck on the cheek. Though it was normal for a married couple to show each other affection publicly, the sudden show of affection made Lyarra's entire body still with shock. Nevertheless, a smile grew across her face.

"I'm pregnant," Lyarra clarified, as though he could forget. "The baby is set to come any day now. Creylen reckons he or she could come within the week." She gave her husband a cheeky smile. "I'm supposed to be massive."

"A week?" Jaime repeated, his eyes widening with surprise. Lyarra nodded. She noticed the shame cross his face and felt the urge to comfort him.

"So much has happened in the last few months, Jaime. It's okay," she promised him, giving her husband a reassuring smile which he returned with a weak one of his own."What matters is that you're here now."

Absently, Jaime nodded, his thoughts far away from the here and now. Lyarra couldn't imagine what he was going through, the same way he couldn't imagine what it was like to have his whole family massacred. Jaime's brother murdered his father. At least Lyarra knew her family were good, loyal people. That illusion had been shattered for Jaime.

Jaime shook his head as though to shut the thoughts away and looked to Jon, flashing him a large smile that stretched across his face from ear to ear. It had been months since Jon last saw his father. Lyarra had worried he would be cold to Jaime again, after such a long time apart.

In an instant, Lyarra was proven wrong. Jon gave his father a toothy grin in response. Laughing heartily, Jaime scooped Jon into his arm and spun him around, his laugh mingling with Jon's childish giggles.

"Show me your muscles," Jaime playfully commanded. Giggling, Jon flexed his arm and summoned a tiny muscle, which was more like a bump in his upper arm. Jaime gave a loud, exaggeratively amazed noise. "Perhaps it's time we start training you to be a soldier, hm?"

Jon nodded excitedly as Lyarra laughed at Jaime's comment, believing him to be joking. "I'm ready! I've been practising!"

"Is that so?" Jaime encouraged, grinning.

Again, Jon nodded with equal excitement. "With sticks from the garden! I'm reeeeeealy good!"

"I don't doubt it," Jaime replied. He pressed a kiss on Jon's nose and set him on the ground before he turned to Lyarra, his face becoming solemn again. "We need to plan for the burial."

She nodded in agreement. "I wasn't sure about how you'd want to... treat this."

"As one would treat any death of liege lord," Jaime responded, his tone becoming sharp and snappish. Lyarra flinched at his sudden change in demeanour. If he noticed it, Jaime made no indication and his tone stayed just as harsh. "My father was respected by the westerlands. He gave them prosperity. No matter how he died or who killed him, he deserves a proper burial."

"I know," Lyarra said, sounding exasperated. How the tables had turned – now Jaime was the angry, grieving one and Lyarra the supportive, tongue-biting partner. "I'll write to the bannermen and make the arrangements."

She saw the guilt appear on his face. That was one difference between them, she supposed, Lyarra had never felt guilty. In her grief and in her anger, she felt as though everyone deserved her hatred and her rage. Becoming with child again had made her softer, gentler and kinder, more like how she used to be. The baby made her hope again for a better future, even if that future was without her family and with Jaime.

"Thank you," Jaime replied. Without saying it, Lyarra heard his unspoken apology. She gave him a small smile in response as they entered the keep together for the first time in years.

* * *

Dressed all in black, Lyarra stared at her reflection in the long, body-length mirror and pondered over how odd it was, that she was allowed to mourn the death of the man who caused her family so much pain yet if she dared shed a tear in public for her father, mother or brothers, she would be deemed a traitor.

The garb was insincere, but it would be insensitive to wear bright colours to her husband's father's funeral.

She spotted Rhea in the mirror as the handmaiden approached her from behind. "A necklace," Rhea announced as she pulled the jewelled necklace across Lyarra's neck, showing it to her. "It's not too fancy. I just thought you looked terribly dull with just the black dress."

"Well, it is a funeral," Lyarra commented, looking at necklace through the mirror. She touched it with her hand, feeling the crevices of the small sapphires beneath her fingertips. "I like it. Thank you, Rhea." Rhea smiled and clasped the necklace behind Lyarra's neck. "Where did you find it?"

"It was in Joanna Lannister's jewellery box," Rhea answered sheepishly, glancing worriedly at Lyarra's reflection and becoming suddenly fascinated with the back of her lady's neck. "I know you never opened it, but I thought, what with you _really_ being Lady Lannister now..."

The thought had never occurred to her. For the last few years, she had been referred to as 'Lady Lannister' and as the Lady of Casterly Rock, but only by proxy, by necessity, and not by right of marriage or birth. But now, the title was indisputably hers. She thought the notion would make her feel thrilled or more powerful, but honestly she felt nothing.

"No, you're right," Lyarra replied once she regained her senses. She was doing that an awful lot lately. In the middle of a conversation, Lyarra often carelessly slipped into a world of her own, forgetting entirely about the person she was speaking with. "I am Lady Lannister now. Might as well look the part. Will you braid my hair?"

Silently, Rhea nodded and led her over to her vanity. Lyarra leaned into her handmaiden's touch as Rhea pulled at her hair and crossed the strands over each other, creating a long braid that stretched to the middle of Lyarra's back. She found the feeling of Rhea's fingers working away at her hair relaxing – comforting, even. She went into a world of her own, focusing on anything but Tywin's death and the impact his horrible existence had on her family.

"I should visit Genna's room before the burial. To see if she's alright," Lyarra muttered when Rhea was done. She struggled to stand up from the chair and had to use the table of her vanity for support. Rhea watched her with worried, anxious eyes. "I'm fine, Rhea," Lyarra assured her, having successfully gotten up from the chair. She smiled, laughing at herself. "The sooner this baby comes out of me, the better."

Rhea threw her head back and joined Lyarra in her laughter. Lyarra bid her handmaiden goodbye before she went to Genna's room. She was probably the last person Genna wanted to see, considering the last altercation they had was certainly less than amicable, but Lyarra didn't see Jaime offering his aunt comfort and his Uncle Kevan was an awkward sort when it came to feelings and whatnot.

Most importantly out of all her reasons, Genna had been there for her when no one else was. The day she found out her father died, it was Genna who wrapped her in her arms and let her cry into her shoulder, who told her what she needed to hear to soothe her grief and then to ensure her survival. After everything Genna had done for her, Lyarra owed her some kindness.

Standing outside Genna's door, Lyarra had to take a deep breath before opening the door. She found Genna sitting on the foot of her bed, coughing and splurting blood. It was the last sight Lyarra wanted to see. She stood awkwardly by the door, unsure of whether to comfort Genna or allow her some privacy.

"You don't knock," Genna observed breathlessly.

"It took you this long to notice," Lyarra replied, a small, sad smile on her lips. Genna looked up at Lyarra, her solemn, pained expression morphing into one of laughter.

They shared a laugh for a few moments. It felt insincere to Lyarra, like Genna was pretending that everything was fine. As always, Lyarra was only too willing to pretend with her. The facade crumbled quickly and soon enough, Genna's body was no longer shaking from laughing, but from crying.

Instinctively, Lyarra rushed to her good-aunt's side and wrapped her in her arms, allowing Genna to weep into her shoulder. The irony of their situation didn't escape Lyarra. Years ago, Lyarra was the one needing comfort, now it was Genna. Despite their recent falling-out, it felt natural to comfort Genna. She was the first Lannister to treat her like family. Lyarra would never forget that.

"He's dead!" Genna cried. "My b-brother is dead!" Her sobs quietened as she regained control of herself, far quicker than Lyarra would have expected. Then again, Genna had much better control over her emotions than Lyarra ever had. The elder woman smiled tightly and wryly. "And soon I'll be joining him."

"What are you talking about?" Lyarra asked. When Genna refused to answer her, instead choosing to press her lips together and look away, Lyarra became panicked. " _Genna-_ "

"I'm old," Genna responded, as though that explained everything. Genna sighed. "Well, not that old. Tywin died before his time and it seems that I will as well. This cough of mine – I know you've noticed it. I see that pitying look on your face every time I start hacking and I hate it. Creylen believes I have a few months. My insides are corrupted, whatever that means. All I know is that I'm dying, Lyarra, and I don't have long." She laughed humourlessly. "I'm beginning to think it's a blessing. Everyone I love seems to be dying all around me."

"Don't say that," Lyarra chided, tears gathering in her eyes. She felt terrible. Today, they buried Genna's brother, and _Lyarra_ was the one crying yet again. She pushed her feelings away and blinked rapidly to get rid of the tears in her eyes. "We'll find someone, we'll search, across the Narrow Sea – Essos – _anywhere_! We'll find someone to heal you."

"Don't worry yourself," Genna responded. "I couldn't forgive myself if I caused that baby any harm. You wouldn't want that on a dying woman's conscience, would you?" She smiled cheekily at Lyarra.

"How can you joke about this?"

"What else am I to do?" Genna asked. "I've shed my tears, raged at the gods for doing this to me, pleaded for some sort of miracle. And now, I've just accepted it. I bid you to do that as well. It becomes much simpler when you realise there's nothing you can do."

She started tearing up again and hated herself for it. "I can't do that," Lyarra said meekly, shaking her head. She thought of Jaime and all he'd lost. Of her children – Jon and the unborn child she carried – and how they'd never get to know the only Lannister aunt worth knowing.

"Yes, you can. For me," Genna responded, placing her hand on Lyarra's and patting it. "For Jaime. I don't want to hope anymore for a miracle that will never happen and I don't want to spend my last few months waiting for healers from all around the world to tell me the same thing. That I'm dying." Genna smiled sadly at her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Go. I suppose you have a lot to do."

Choking on the lump in her throat, Lyarra nodded wordlessly and walked out of Genna's bedroom, her entire body feeling heavy.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This chapter was supposed to contain Tywin's burial but then it got too long, so that's going to be in the next chapter. A lot of Jaime/Lyarra next chapter. I know their reunion wasn't much, but next chapter will be very fluffy, which could go horribly wrong for me because I'm not the best at fluff!

So,,, what did you guys think of the chapter? Are there any Jaime/Lyarra fluff prompts you want to suggest? Like I said, I'm not the best when it comes to fluff but I want to show a more tender, domestic side to their relationship. I just can't think of any!

Also next chapter: another Lannister baby is born!


	27. Buried Grievances

**Buried Grievances**

As the septon blessed Tywin's coffin and prayed for his soul, Lyarra's thoughts brought her somewhere else. Though she tried not to, she kept glancing towards her good-aunt every few seconds, thinking of how in just a few months, they'd have to bury her as well.

Tears welled in her eyes. Those attending the funeral would think that she was crying for Tywin, for her good-father, but Lyarra would rather gouge out her eyes than cry for him. She'd sooner laugh at his dead body than cry over his coffin. She stared at it, the great, expensive, wooden coffin that held Tywin's body within, and she felt relief. She felt joy. This was justice for Robb and her mother – the man who orchestrated their murders was dead. She wanted to smile and laugh, but Lyarra had more tact than that. Jaime's bannermen would not look kindly on her laughing at their former liege lord's funeral.

So she bit her lip and bowed her head, concentrating on Jon's fidgeting hands as he tried his best to fight his boredom. He wrung his little fingers and yawned, bored out of his mind. While they were in King's Landing, Tywin's influence over how Jon was being raised was immense, but Jon actually spent very little time with his grandfather, and as far as Lyarra was concerned, that was for the best.

She noticed that the septon had changed the topic of his speech and was now talking about how fine a leader and a man Tywin was. She had to bite her tongue to keep herself from scoffing. A fine leader perhaps, but a man? Tywin was the most ungodly person she knew and yet the septon claimed that he was generous, kind and forgiving – a true man of the gods, a fine bearer of their teachings, a man of his word. Her throat itched as she choked on her words, on her desire to get up and tell everyone what kind of bastard Tywin really was, tell them what he did to her family, what he threatened to do to her.

He deemed her unnecessary. He claimed that her life was expendable, that Jon didn't need her. He was wrong. Without her, Jon would turn out to be like him, to be a _Lannister_. Lyarra would never let that happen, to Jon or to the child in her belly. _They'll be Starks,_ she promised herself, _they'll be like Father and Robb and Jon. I will raise them like northerners._

And that would be her 'fuck you' to Tywin Lannister.

Afraid that her face would show anything but indifference, Lyarra straightened her face and forced herself to listen to the septon again. "He is survived by his son Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Warden of the West, by his daughter the Queen Mother, by his granddaughter Princess Myrcella and also by his grandsons King Tommen and Lord Jon Lannister."

"That's me," Jon whispered excitedly to Lyarra.

She smiled at Jon and placed her finger to her lips, indicating to him to be quiet. As the ceremony came to a close, a group of red cloaks appeared from the back of the Sept and put Tywin's coffin on their shoulders. They followed Tywin's coffin onto the street. The eight red cloaks carrying his coffin led them to Casterly Rock, where Tywin was to be buried beneath the crypts with his wife. She looked over to Jaime and found his expression to be cold and weary. She knew better than to speak to him when he was like this. He had a worse temper than even she did.

"Mother, I'm tired," Jon whined.

Lyarra looked down at him, noticing that his steps were becoming sluggish. She hiked him up onto her hip and carried him to the keep, thanking the gods that it wasn't too long of a walk. She was heavily pregnant and ready to burst at any moment, and she was always tired. Her back ached and the baby's kicking didn't help. The child in her belly kicked so hard it was almost like he was trying to climb out through her skin.

Once they were inside the keep, Lyarra set Jon on the ground despite his whining and held his hand as they walked down to the crypts. The red cloaks lowered Tywin into the ground using four ropes as the septon flickered holy oil on the coffin. He said one last blessing and prayer, and then it was over. Tywin Lannister was dead and truly buried.

And that, Lyarra noted, felt like blissful closure.

After the burial, they held a reception in the Great Hall. Lyarra was sat at the heat table with Jaime, Jon and the rest of the Lannister family. Their vassals and the bannermen's wives came up to them to express their condolences. Most only said a few words, some said nice things about Tywin which Lyarra had to force herself to sit through and nod along, and one or two went into painfully long speeches about how great a man he was.

"I knew him for years," Lord Cerwyn told them, his voice low and mournful. It sounded exaggerated to Lyarra. "I used to play with Tywin and his brothers when we were children. Sometimes Lord Baratheon would bring his son Steffon to Casterly Rock for a few days, that's King Robert's father, you know."

"Yes, I know," Jaime replied sarcastically, though the old man didn't quite pick up on Jaime's sour tone and continued on.

"We had King Aerys over once or twice. He wasn't quite as mad back then, just a bit temperamental." Cerwyn's eyes went wide as he remembered that Jaime was the one who put an end to the Mad King's tyranny. "Never the matter. When Tywin became the Lord of Casterly Rock, he proved himself to be a far better leader than his father was. I was around the same age and my own father died around the same time. We were both thrust into the horrors of leadership around the same age. You're lucky, my lord, to become a lord at a better, more mature age."

"Fortunate, indeed," was Jaime's response. Again, it was filled with sarcasm that Lord Cerwyn didn't pick up on.

"I was loyal to your father throughout his tenure. I admired him greatly and did my best to be of service to him," the old man promised. "And I hope to be of service to you as well, my lord, for as long as the gods keep me in this world."

Lyarra looked over to Jaime, expecting him to say something in response. Before Cerwyn could continue speaking, Lyarra forced to come up with some sort of reply, "Thank you, my lord," she told him, a cordial smile on her lips. "We appreciate your loyalty."

Finally taking his cue to leave, Lord Cerwyn wished them well and bowed before going on his way. Lyarra glanced around the room, taking note of all the lords who were not in attendance. Lord Crakehall and Lord Serrett were currently fighting with each other so their absence was excused, but Lord Lefford also hadn't bothered to show up. Lyarra refused to let herself be riled up. They didn't need Lefford when every other lord seemed to be loyal.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Jon as he tugged at her skirts to get her attention. "I'm tired," he complained again, jutting his lower lip out as he pouted up at her.

Lyarra brushed a loose strand of brown hair away from his face and gave him a kind smile, "We'll be leaving soon," she promised him before turning to Jaime again, "That was tedious. Lord Cerwyn obviously wants something." She trailed off as she looked to her right where Jaime had been and found no one there.

"Genna," she called, getting her good-aunt's attention. "Will you watch Jon for a few moments?"

Genna smiled and nodded, outstretching her arms. Jon climbed onto her lap and rested his head against her breast. "Someone's tired, hm?" she whispered to him, rocking him back at forth and lulling him to sleep.

She left the Great Hall, brushing off those who tried to speak with her, and searched for her husband. She found him sitting on the steps that led down to the crypts. His sobs were quiet and muffled, but Lyarra heard them all the same. She sat down next to him wordlessly as Jaime cast a quick glance in her direction before wiping his eyes with his left hand.

"It's odd to think of him as dead," Jaime admitted. "I thought he'd live forever."

"So did I," Lyarra agreed, thinking of all the times he called her to his solar and scolded her. He seemed so powerful, like some sort of unholy god. "He just seemed invincible."

Jaime nodded, becoming quiet again. He stared at the last step on the spiral staircase, lost in thought. "Everything is going to go to shit now he's gone," he said, turning his head to look at Lyarra. "I don't have a clue what to do."

"We'll figure it out," she promised him. She knew how to manage finances and the basic issues the westerlands had, but controlling and managing it's nobles was a completely different story.

He seemed to be worrying about that aspect as well. "Our bannermen used to treat my grandfather like a fool. They took money from him and never paid it back and when he asked for repayment, they belittled him."

Genna spoke of her father often, mostly in jest. When they were discussing the economy of the westerlands and wondering how to fix their current situation of being in debt, Genna used to say that at least they weren't throwing gold at men in return for fake smiles like her father had.

"From what I heard of your grandfather, he seemed like a horrible pushover."

"He was," Jaime agreed. "But these lords... they're not like the ones in King's Landing or in the North. They will take advantage of us if we even show them an ounce of kindness. If they detect weakness, they'll jump on it."

"You're not a pushover, Jaime," she assured him, placing her hand on his knee. "You'll be fine. They'll respect you."

"They're used to being ruled by my father's steel fist. Despite what you may think of me, I don't have it in me to be as cruel and ruthless as he was."

 _Perhaps not now,_ she thought to herself. Lyarra had seen a lot of his father in Jaime when they had first married, and sometimes still. But the difference now was that Jaime had no desire at all to be like his father when it came to how he ruled. Lyarra hoped that wouldn't change. She knew better than anyone that necessity could completely alter who someone was.

She gave him a sad smile and nodded, "I know you don't. They'll get used to your way. You just have to show them that you're not to be messed with."

"And how do I do that?" he asked, his tone sounding hopeless and showing more vulnerability than Lyarra had ever seen him display, at least to her.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Like I said, we'll figure it out." She patted his knee one last time and gave him another sorry smile. "We should get back."

He nodded his head and climbed onto his feet, seeming distracted. Lyarra tried to get up, even shifting her weight to different sides in an effort to get onto her feet, but every attempt failed. The damn baby was too big for her to do anything.

"Jaime," she said, holding her stomach – the source of all this hassle.

"What is it?" he asked, worry seeping into his voice.

"I can't get up."

Jaime laughed with her. He bent his knees and offered her his arm. Gracelessly, Lyarra clamoured onto her feet and allowed Jaime to help her up the stairs. She waddled to the Great Hall, finding it surprisingly, and blissfully, devoid of people. She found Jon sleeping in Genna's arms.

"I'll take him," Jaime said as he lifted Jon into his arms. "I'm going to put him to bed."

Lyarra nodded. Jon squirmed and whinged, tiredly wiping his eyes. He said nothing to them and fell back asleep as Jaime took him out of the hall. Lyarra bid Genna goodnight and said goodbye to those still in the hall before she went to bed as well.

Because she was mere days away from giving birth, Jaime had taken to sleeping with her. There was need for it, but Lyarra understood why he was so insistent. His own mother died giving birth and Lyarra had nearly died while giving birth to Jon. It gave him comfort to sleep with her and know that she wasn't in danger yet. And honestly, Lyarra found it sweet.

She undressed and took the pins out of her hair before climbing into bed. Exhausted, she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. In what felt like just a few seconds later, she heard a loud crashing noise and jumped awake.

"Sorry!" Jaime muttered before he started cursing beneath his breath and grabbing his knee.

"Did you bang your knee off the bed?" Lyarra asked, struggling not to laugh.

"Yes, I did."

"You idiot," she chastised jokingly before she let herself laugh.

"Shut up," he murmured, a small grin on his lips at his own clumsiness as he took off his doublet and dressed in his nightclothes. "I was trying not to wake you."

"Well, you obviously failed. I'm surely awake now," she told Jaime, enjoying teasing him a little too much. He climbed into bed beside her and gave her a look. "But it's the good intention that matters," she said, her tone filled with jest.

"Exactly," Jaime replied.

Lyarra smiled at him. Her eyes trailed down his torso to his hand – his golden one. Since he came home, she'd wanted to tell him that she didn't mind seeing his stump at night, or ever really, but she hadn't mustered the bravery yet. His hand, or lack thereof one, was one topic that Jaime was sensitive about. But tonight seemed like the right time.

Chewing at her lower lip, she pulled up the sleeve of his nightgown and pulled at the laces of his golden hand. "What are you doing?" Jaime asked her. Her eyes flickered up to him, finding his expression to be more bewildered and surprised than angry.

"Is that not uncomfortable?"

He didn't reply for a while, but Lyarra saw his response in his eyes. He looked pained and embarrassed. "I don't want you to see it."

"It doesn't matter to me," Lyarra promised him. "You don't have to wear it for me. Ever."

She finished undoing the laces and stretched over Jaime to place his golden hand on his bedside table. Before she settled back on her side of the bed, Jaime wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him.

He didn't say anything, but again, Lyarra could guess what he was trying to say. She smiled down at him and he tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear, responding with a smile of his own. She settled down beside him again, only this time he wrapped his arm around her and held her closer to him, her bump between them.

* * *

Lyarra had expected her workload to be alleviated upon Jaime's return. She was sorely mistaken.

For the first few days, Jaime took part in council meetings and signed his name to important documents. He was diligent and hard-working, though Lyarra could see he was struggling. She remembered him admitting to her during the first few months of their marriage that letters on a page muddled and confused him – numbers, too. She saw him struggling as he read, but every time she tried to help him, he brushed her away.

Four days into his return home, Jaime started to ignore his duties and, yet again, she was forced to step in. It began with a single document. Lyarra asked him to sign it and Jaime dismissed her, urging her to forge his signature. She'd done it plenty of times, but that was before Jaime's return home. Lyarra was conflicted. She enjoyed some aspects of being in charge, but another part of her hated that she had to carry all the responsibility all the time and she wasn't even given due credit for it.

Having just readied herself for the day, Lyarra stared at her very large bump in the mirror. The baby hadn't stirred yet and it didn't seem like it was planning to any time soon. She caressed her belly and smiled. She was eager to meet her baby son or daughter, but she dreaded childbirth. After last time, the thought of having to give birth again frightened her beyond words. But there was nothing she could do about it now, so she calmed her recurrent worries with a deep breath and by thinking of how happy she was going to be once she held her baby in her arms.

She left her room, waddling towards the maester's solar. He had sent for her and claimed it was urgent. Though she had insisted that pregnancy didn't make her an invalid and refused to go into confinement as some women did, Lyarra still would have appreciated if Creylen came to her. That thought obviously hadn't popped into the old maester's head.

Spotting a head of golden hair in the hallway, Lyarra smiled as she approached Jaime. Her smile dwindled when she noticed that he was dressed in a loose fitting shirt and trousers, as though he was planning on training. "Creylen sent for us," Lyarra told him. "He said it was important."

Jaime gave a small laugh. "I'm sure it is, knowing him. Everything seems to be serious with that man. You'll have to tell me all about it later."

He clasped her shoulder affectionately before walking past her. Lyarra whipped around and called after him, "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to train with Bronn," he informed her flippantly. "I'm planning on honing my skills as a fighter and a commander, the two things I'm good at."

"Jaime, you're not just an heir anymore. You're a lord," she tried to remind him.

"I know that," he replied frustratedly. He pinched his nose to stop himself from lashing out at her. Lyarra stepped back unconsciously, wary of his anger. "Politics is wasted on me. You and Creylen seem to have everything under control."

"That's not true," Lyarra argued. "I don't know the westerlands as well as you do. I haven't a clue. You grew up here, Jaime. You know more than I do."

"You'll learn. You're a fast learner," was his response, quick and factual, as though that just excused everything. Lyarra clenched her fists by her sides. She saw his jaw tighten and his resolve falter for a moment, before he forced another grin on his face. "I'll see you later."

Lyarra didn't reply. She stayed glaring daggers at him as he walked away from her. He had placed all this responsibility on her without any kind of apology or real explanation, just excuses. She shook her head and forced her feet to walk towards Creylen's chambers, though her head was still whirling and focused on Jaime's flippant excuses.

"My lady," Creylen greeted her. She responded with a respectful nod. "Lord Jaime will not be joining us?"

"No, not today. He prefers to train," she informed Creylen, bitterness laced in her tone. She wasn't bothered to pretend, not with Creylen. He was too close to their family for Lyarra to be able to. "You said you had news about Silverhill."

"Yes," Creylen replied, immediately getting to the point. Lyarra awkwardly sat down and Creylen followed suit, though he lowered himself onto the seat in a far more graceful manner. "Lord Damon has succeeded in securing his keep. Lord Crakehall has returned home, defeated."

"I'm glad to hear that," she replied. She felt a sharp twinge in her stomach and shifted in discomfort. It spread to her back, but went as quickly as it came. "And our men?"

"One thousand and nine hundred return home," he informed her.

"So we lost three hundred," Lyarra said, her words coming out in between pants. She grabbed her stomach as another sharp pain rippled through her body, starting in her stomach before it spread all around her.

"Yes," Creylen replied slowly, distracted by his mistress' sudden groans of pain. "Are you alright, my lady?"

Lyarra blew sharp puffs of air between her lips as she tried to regulate the pain. When it didn't work, she looked up at Creylen through her eyelashes and shook her head vehemently, barely managing to huff out, "No. I think the baby's coming."

She would have found the maester's squeal of shock amusing had it not been for the next wave of pain that shot through her. With Jon, the pain had been slow and steady, amounting to a slight discomfort at first. But this pain was quick and strong, crashing through her body and cutting her insides like a knife. She let out a sharp cry.

"How long have you been experiencing pains?"

"Just there now," she replied. "Well, a little last night, but nothing major."

He pulled up her skirts without warning and told her to spread her legs as he checked to see how far along she was. "The baby's coming soon," he told her. "We best get you to a bed."

Lyarra nodded and struggled to get onto her feet. As soon as she managed to stand up, another sharp pain attacked her stomach and she doubled over again, letting out a small scream. "Get Jaime," she gritted out, grinding her teeth together to muffle her scream.

"I will. I'll send for him," the maester promised. "Let's get you to a bed first."

Silent and already exhausted, Lyarra could only nod as Creylen led her to her room. Rhea was already there, red-faced and pestering. She helped Lyarra out of her clothes and into her nightgown and undid her hair so it fell loosely down her back. Gracelessly, Lyarra climbed into bed. As soon as she managed to sit up in the bed, another wave of pain hit her and her entire body doubled over in an effort to ease the pain.

"Lyarra," she heard Jaime's voice call as he rushed over to her, "are you alright?"

"Do I look alright?" she snapped at him. Her back ached and her lower stomach felt like it was contracting and knotting. She tried to breathe deeply, just as Maester Pycelle had instructed her during the first birth. This pain, however, was different to the labour pains she felt with Jon. There was no fever or confusion, no mental and emotional pain, just pure physical anguish. She thanked the gods for the small blessings, even though she was currently writhing in pain and panting like she had ran for leagues.

"My lord, you can't be in here," Creylen warned him half-heartedly, as though he knew exactly what Jaime was going to say next.

"I doubt any of you are prepared to drag me out," Jaime challenged, looking around at all the people in the room, but especially at Creylen. Seeing that they weren't going to do anything, Jaime merely smiled. "I guess I'm staying."

Lyarra heard the maester sigh before he shook his head and attended to Lyarra. He slipped his hands between her legs again and felt for the baby's head inside of her. Lyarra shifted uncomfortably, but her discomfort was soon forgotten when she felt another contraction hit. She grabbed her stomach and groaned in pain.

"It's time to deliver the baby," he announced.

"To deliver?" Jaime repeated. "She's only been in labour for half an hour."

"The child's eager to come out," Creylen explained, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. Lyarra knew that she was in part to blame, since she neglected to realise her pains last night were labour pains. Once again, she interrupted their conversation with a loud scream.

She felt herself being ripped open, like someone had a knife and was cutting through her entire body. The pain had frightened her when she was delivering Jon. This time, it just felt like pain – but unbearable, chronic pain nonetheless.

"It's time to push," Creylen told her, standing at the end of the bed and staring up her nightdress. Lyarra had thrown all sense of modesty to the wind as she focused on birthing her baby.

With her right hand, she clutched and tore the sheets of the bed with her nails, and with her left, she grabbed Jaime's hand tightly, so tight she could see his fist turn white as she gritted her teeth and groaned, pushing with all her might.

Her hair was damp with sweat, her bedsheets wet with blood. It felt like forever – a forever filled with screaming and annoying encouragements and so much pain. Eventually, she felt a small relief.

A high-pitched cry filled the room.

"A boy," Creylen announced as he wrapped the baby in a towel. Lyarra leaned her head back, exhausted and relieved that the child was alive. Creylen grinned at them. "You have a son."

She looked at Jaime, seeing the large smile on his face. He leaned closer to her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She smiled back at him. Her body ached still and the sore contractions remained. The real relief came with the afterbirth, when the baby's chord and other, disgusting matter left her body. It was like birthing another child, only without the joyous cry.

Panting, she looked over at Jaime again and saw his wrinkled nose. She laughed at him, about to make a witty comment, but it became caught in her throat as Creylen handed her child to her.

He was beautiful. As beautiful as Jon had been. She cradled his head carefully in her arms and caressed his cheek with the back of her finger. He was too perfect to be hers. She couldn't believe he was her son, the baby she had carried for the last ten months. She felt detached, just like before, and that frightened her.

She gave the baby to Jaime to hold gingerly. She loved the baby. She knew she did, but seeing him made her hate herself. Motherly love should be instinctive. As soon as a child is born, his mother should love him. Why couldn't she be normal?

"What's wrong?" Jaime asked her, looking worried.

She forced herself to give him a weak, reassuring smile. "Nothing. I'm just tired."

Accepting her excuse, Jaime nodded and moved his eyes towards his son. "He's perfect," Jaime cooed as he stared down at their newborn child. Lyarra felt her heart twist. It was so natural for Jaime – for Cersei, even!

 _What the fuck is wrong with me?_

"What do want to name him?" Lyarra asked. Jaime looked at her, surprised. "I named Jon. It's only fair."

Jaime smiled at that. He brushed the towel away from the baby's face and gave him a long look. "Tygett," Jaime stated. "He looks like a Tygett."

Lyarra recalled Genna saying that ahe had a brother called Tygett, the one who died. Lyarra smiled and nodded. Jaime went back to staring at his son and Lyarra resolved herself to tiredly looking at them both, thinking about how right Jaime looked with him. She wondered if she'd ever have that with a newborn baby. It took her _months_ to learn to love Jon. Would it take that her long again?

"Isn't he handsome?" Jaime cooed at the baby after a while.

She looked at her baby again. Jaime was right. The name Tygett suited him. She tried to feel something, anything. She reminded herself a hundred times in only a few seconds that this baby was, in fact, _her baby_. She felt nothing.

It was like she hadn't carried him inside of her for months. It was like she wasn't even his mother.

Tears gathered in her eyes as a lump formed in her throat. She gulped down the lump, trying to keep her voice steady. "All babies look like frogs," she commented.

The look Jaime gave her was a mixture of shock and bewilderment. It made her feel even worse. Even Jaime, who had committed multiple atrocities and had seen atrocities being done, was appalled with her. Lyarra tried to keep her face even and licked her lips, feeling herself getting emotional. "I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."

She briefly saw Jaime nod before she swiftly turned around in the bed, away from Jaime and Tygett, and closed her eyes to stop any tears from falling. It was temporary, she swore to herself, _I'm just tired._ She hoped that when she woke up, things would be different.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The baby is here! Lyarra just really doesn't like babies. What did you guys think of this chapter? I'm worried Jaime's a bit OOC, but I think he would have turned out differently if he had kids to think about, you know? Anyway, let me know what you think!


	28. Grave Promises

**Grave Promises**

As she held her child in her arms, Lyarra chose to stare out the window instead of forcing herself to look at Tygett. She only upset herself when she looked at him. Since the day of his birth, Lyarra had confined herself to the nursery, spending all her time with Tygett and sometimes Jon when he decided to visit her. She dismissed all the servants who tried to help with Tygett. She fed him, cleaned him and changed him all by herself, and she hated every minute of it. She was exhausted. When Tyg started crying, so did she. She couldn't sleep. She barely ate. All she could think about was how horrible a mother she was, and how much she wanted to get away from Casterly Rock.

She wanted to abandon her children. What kind of a mother did that make her? She doubted Cersei ever thought about abandoning her children. Despite being cruel and ruthless, Cersei was a good mother. What would her own mother think, if she was alive and Lyarra told her that she wanted to leave her family? She'd be disgusted with Lyarra, and Lyarra wouldn't have blamed her.

Hearing a high-pitched whine coming from her baby, Lyarra finally looked down at him, feeling tears well in her eyes immediately. She started to rock Tygett, soothing him with gentle soft words that didn't seem to work at all.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice strained with frustration as she bounced him up and down. She got up from her chair and started pacing the nursery. She tried singing to him, speaking soothing words and rocking him, but nothing worked. "Oh, what's wrong with you? You smell fine. Are you hungry? Here," she said as she sat down with him again. She unlaced her dress and offered him her nipple, but Tygett turned his head away as his cries became louder. "What do you want?"

She covered up her breast again and loosely laced up her dress in case anyone was to walk in. She was doing _everything_ right! She spent all of her time with him. She fed him herself. Why was he being so difficult?

Lyarra wondered if he knew. If he realised how upset and detached she felt. She had dismissed that thought so many times. He was a baby – how could he possibly know what her tears and her strained voice meant? She was trying _so hard_ , but nothing was going right for her. Maybe she was just a horrible mother. Maybe Jon and Tyg would be better off without her.

Shaking her head, she pushed that thought aside. Children needed their mother. It took her a while to adjust to being a mother to Jon as well. Soon enough, she'd warm to Tygett too. That was what she hoped at least.

For hours, Tygett cried and wailed and screamed. Maids came into the nursery to check on him, but Lyarra shooed them all away. She would calm him. She was his mother – she should be able to soothe and comfort him! What was wrong with her?

"You need to sleep," she muttered to him as he continued to cry. _And so do I,_ she thought to herself. The thought of a nap was a glorious one. She just wanted to sleep. "You haven't slept since last night. You're tired. Go to sleep." She hummed a sweet lullaby to him, praying that would calm him down. Soon enough, her lullaby turned to relentless hiccuping as she started sobbing as well. "Why can't you just go to sleep? _Please stop crying!_ "

To her surprise, the crying suddenly came to a stop. Lyarra's eyes widened in surprise, a shocked smile growing across her lips. As though he was fragile glass, she slowly walked over to the chair and took out her breast again. He latched his lips on her nipple and sucked, becoming quiet and peaceful. Lyarra sighed happily and caressed the side of his head as he closed his eyes and slowly drifted off to sleep.

For the first time since she gave birth, she felt like a mother. She comforted him, all by herself! Perhaps she wasn't so useless after all. She could do this. As she stared down at her baby, she felt a familiar blossoming of love in her belly, one that she had often felt with Jon. It was quick and fleeting, but she knew it was there.

Her attention was only taken away from her son when Genna opened the door to the nursery and stepped inside. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Lyarra interrupted her so that she didn't speak in her usual loud, booming voice. "I just got him to sleep. If you wake him..."

"I'll be quiet," she whispered. "Don't worry. I heard him screaming. Is he alright?"

"He was just being fussy," Lyarra answered, smiling down at him fondly. "But I got him to sleep." She looked up at Genna, noticing how her nose crinkled at the sight of Lyarra giving her child suck. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You know how I feel about _that_."

"About what?" Lyarra replied, laughing. "A mother feeding her child? Plenty of women do it."

"Plenty of peasant women. You're a noblewoman," Genna reminded her sharply. "We employ wet nurses to feed our children so we don't have to be degraded by the practice."

"Degraded? It's the most natural thing in the world," Lyarra insisted.

Genna shook her head. "I detest the practice. Breastfeeding turns good, noble women into cows. You deserve better than this. Get a wet nurse." Before she could continue with her rant, Genna broke down in a fit of coughing. She turned around, careful about infecting Jon with whatever affliction she had. Even though Creylen had insisted her illness was not contagious, Genna was still very cautious around her family.

Lyarra looked at Genna worriedly. "Get a physician," she said to her. Genna turned around to look at her, a surprised but humoured look on her face as she raised an incredulous eyebrow. She started to laugh. Lyarra found herself laughing too. "I'm being serious, Genna. Just give me your permission and I'll find someone to treat you."

"I told you. This isn't treatable," Genna insisted again.

Though she opened her mouth to speak, no words came out of Lyarra's lips. She felt a lump forming in her throat and looked away from Genna. Just then, she felt Tygett stop feeding as he fell deeper into sleep and slowly took her nipple out of his mouth, as to not wake him. She laced up her dress, trying to push back the lump in her throat as she stood up and placed Tygett in his cot.

"Why won't you accept help?" she asked Genna as she gripped the railing of Tygett's cot. "Why not _try_? It can't do any harm!"

"I don't want to spend the last few weeks or days of my life being prodded by useless physicians. This is my choice, Lyarra, not yours. You just have to accept it."

A sound escaped Lyarra that sounded half-way between a sob and a scoff. She shook her head vehemently, tears gathering in her eyes. "I can't," she replied, subconsciously shrugging her shoulders.

"You have to," Genna replied simply, and Lyarra knew that she was right. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

Jon's nursemaid entered then, glancing between the two women worriedly. Lyarra placed her hands on her hips and looked away for a minute, taking in a deep breath to calm herself. "What is it?" she asked the maid sharply.

"Lord Jon wants to see his brother, my lady. If it's a bad time..."

"No, it's not," she assured her. "Let him in."

The maid peaked out the door and nodded to Jon. Lyarra grinned at him as he ran towards her. He jumped on top of her, wrapping his arm around his mother as though he hadn't seen her in years. Guilt washed over Lyarra as she remembered that she hadn't seen him in a full week. Jon was her son too and she was neglecting him. She just hoped Jaime was stepping in.

"I've missed you," Jon admitted, still latching onto her for dear life.

Lyarra chuckled and pulled away from him. She cupped his face in her hands and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. Ashamedly, she realised just how little she had thought of her eldest son. All her energy and thoughts were on Tygett. She felt like a horrible person. A horrible mother.

"I've missed you too," she told him. "We have to be quiet though. We wouldn't want to wake your brother, would we?" Jon shook his head. Lyarra smiled and ruffled his hair in response. "Good boy. Would you like to see him?"

Jon nodded enthusiastically. Chuckling to herself, Lyarra stood up and led Jon over to Tygett's cot. Jon pressed his head to the railing of the cot, staring at his little brother with wonder in his eyes. Lyarra adored the sight. She kneeled down beside him and smiled.

"He's too small," Tygett lamented. "I can't play with him."

"When he's bigger, you can play with him," Lyarra promised, brushing back her son's dark hair behind his ear. She saw the scar from when he hit his head. It made her stomach twist. "Until then, playing with him will be very one-sided."

"What do you mean?" he asked her.

"Well," she began, tilting to her head to the side as she tried to think of an example, "he won't be able to play with you or understand your games for quite some time and until then, you'll have to do really simple things. Like make faces."

"I thought making faces was rude."

"Not mean faces. Funny faces. Like this." She stuck out her tongue and stretched out her ears with her hands. Jon laughed heartily at her ridiculous expression, while Genna shook her head disapprovingly, though she couldn't help but laugh as well. "Now you try."

Jon smiled back at her and touched the tip of his nose with his tongue as he crossed his eyes downwards. Lyarra chuckled at him. "When he wakes up, you'll have to show him that face." Jon nodded enthusiastically. Smiling, Lyarra cupped his chin and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. She got up from her knees and went over to the maid. "How has his symptoms been?"

"Lessening, my lady," Merra told her. She was a young girl, even younger than Lyarra, but she was kind and intelligent. "He's still been having difficulty with learning how to read as well as drawing and writing. But his athleticism and motor skills haven't been affected. He's doing well with his swordsman training."

"Wait, what training?" Lyarra asked, blinking in surprise.

"Well, Lord Lannister's been taking him out and training him with the master-at-arms," Merra answered. "Didn't you know, my lady?"

Lyarra shook her head. "No, I did not. Nobody bothers to tell me anything anymore." Irritated, she blew a long puff of air out of her lips and turned to Genna, "Did you know about this?"

"Not a thing," Genna answered.

"Unbelievable," Lyarra stated, irritation sharp in her tone. "And where is _Lord Lannister_ now, does anyone know?"

Merra shrugged. "No, my lady. I don't."

Just as Lyarra's frustration reached it's peak, Tygett let out a loud wail. Jon turned to Lyarra, eyes wide and frightened. "I only barely touched him!" he swore as he quickly stepped away from the cot. "I just touched his cheek like you do!"

"Yes, well you don't do that when a baby is sleeping," Lyarra responded sharply as she rushed over to the cot and picked Tygett up. She bounced him up and down, muttering soft calming words to him to try to calm him. Nothing was working. It was just like before. "I think you all should go. I need to get him back to sleep."

"Come, Jon," Merra called, offering Jon her hand. Jon ran over to him, glancing over his shoulder at his mother and brother worriedly.

"Jon," Lyarra called for him. Jon turned around, afraid. "When does your father bring you out for training?"

"Just before dinner," Jon replied.

Lyarra nodded. "I'll be there this time," she promised him. Jon beamed at her. She forced herself to smile back as guilt washed over her. She wasn't attending to support her son, but to tell Jaime that he was too young and too fragile because of his accident. One hit to his head and he could become severely incapacitated. She couldn't risk that. One of Jon's parent had to have their head screwed on and, as always, that had to be her.

It only took her a few minutes this time to get Jon asleep. She sung him asleep with a lullaby, the same one her mother used to sing to her.

* * *

Jaime's days were mostly spent in the tiltyard, either training his left hand to use a sword or training his son how to fight. He was making up for all the time he missed out on with his eldest son while Robb Stark held him captive. The irony of their situation was never lost on Jaime. Robb Stark was his son's uncle, and it was him who kept his nephew's father away from him for so long.

And now Robb was dead along with his mother, wife and unborn child. Jaime didn't know what to do. He had made a vow to Catelyn. He had promised to bring her daughters back to her – even Lyarra. But she was dead now, so where did that leave him? Was he still obligated by honour to bring Lyarra to Winterfell, even though Winterfell was now in the hands of the Boltons by his father's decree? What was he to do?

Feeling his head become heavy and muddled, he shook it and pushed those thoughts to the back of his head. In time, the opportunity might arise to bring Lyarra back to Winterfell. But where would that leave their children? Jaime was the Lord of Casterly Rock, his place was here. Where would there children go?

He let out a loud sigh as he sharpened his sword. Hearing a loud squeal of excitement, he saw Jon running towards him, his face bright and eager. Jaime put down his sword and opened his arms to his son, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

"I saw Mother and the baby today," Jon told him eagerly.

He found it peculiar how Jon never called his newborn brother by his name – it was always "the baby," but decided not to bring it up. "Oh? And how were they?"

"I woke the baby up," Jon admitted, lowering his head in shame. "I just touched his cheek like Mother does. I didn't think it would make him cry."

"Was your mother mad?" Jaime asked. He hadn't spoken to Lyarra in quite some time. The last time he spoke with her, she threw a hairbrush at him for waking Tygett up. Since then, he'd been cautious about when he went to see Tygett. Creylen told him that childbirth did strange things to women, but Lyarra's sudden change in personality was more than just strange.

Jon pouted, but shook his head. "No. She just looked tired." He paused for a moment, becoming sombre. Jaime waited for him to speak again. When he did, his voice was bright and chipper and his face was alight with a smile. "Can we train now?"

Chuckling, Jaime nodded and ruffled his son's brown hair. "Yes. Grab yourself a wooden sword."

"They're like sticks," Jon commented as he took one out. "Just... thicker."

"I suppose so, but until you're old enough you won't be able to use a steel sword."

"How old?"

Jaime chuckled again. Often, Jon reminded Jaime of himself when he was that age. He was just as eager, and just as skilled. "When you're seven," he told him. "Or eight. It depends on how quickly you pick up swordfighting."

"How about six?" Jon tried to bargain, smirking cheekily up at Jaime.

For a moment, Jaime pondered on what would have happened had he ever had the gall to speak to his father that way. Tywin had never laid a hand on his children, but how he spoke to them and the punishments he inflicted upon them were far worse. He used to forbid Jaime from training or even leaving his room if he misbehaved even slightly. Jaime refused to treat his son as strictly as Tywin treated his children. He wanted his son to trust and love him, not fear him.

"Run along," he told Jon, patting him on the back as he ran off. He saw Bronn approaching. For some reason, Jon was ridiculously fond of unscrupulous knight, and whether it was because he was ambitious or became of genuine fondness, Bronn often humoured him.

Jaime watched as Jon ran over to Bronn and cheerily spoke to him. Bronn laughed at whatever it was Jon said before his son ran away from the knight and towards the tiltyard.

"You came," Jaime greeted him as he took out a wooden sword.

"You sound surprised."

"Well, I expected that an immoral, materialistic knight had better things to do than train a young lordling how to train a sword," Jaime said, humour tickling in his tone.

"You'd be surprised," Bronn responded. "There's not much for an immoral, materialistic knight to do here. I'd be better off in King's Landing."

"Would you now? Since your engagement with Lady Stokeworth was broken?"

"And still, no one's told me why. But I suppose your sister had something to do with it," Bronn suggested. He scoffed and shook his head, irritation twisting his expression. Jaime watched him closely. "You'd think I'd have had my fill of you Lannisters by now."

"And yet you came here with me," Jaime said. "Why?"

"Because you promised the three things I want – a castle, a lordship and a beautiful wife. I've been here for three months and there's no sign of any of those things. You're testing my patience, Jaime Lannister."

"You'll have all of those things. It's just not the right time yet," Jaime insisted. Behind Bronn, Jon was play-fighting with the master-at-arms' son. The boy was older and taller than him, and yet Jon was putting up quite the fight. Jaime would have smiled at the sight, had it not been for Bronn's narrowed eyes glaring at him.

"And when is the 'right time'?"

"When Lord Lefford dies and his daughter takes his place as the Lady of the Golden Tooth. My wife has the Leffords eating out of our hands. They get little to no assistance from us as it stands. I'll bargain with them. In return for more financial assistance from us, Alysanne will marry you."

"None of this has been arranged, I take it."

"Nothing at all. Leo Lefford would never agree to it. We just have to wait for him to die."

"Great. I have a sword. I'll kill him tomorrow."

"Have patience," Jaime instructed him, rolling his eyes at Bronn's callous solution. "Lefford is ill. From the sound of it, he won't last the month. His daughter will be easier to deal with. She's young, beautiful and highborn. Everything you want. If you go and kill her father, she may not be so willing to marry you."

"Fine, I'll wait," Bronn agreed reluctantly. Jaime heard Jon yelling for him and looked over at his son. The point of his wooden sword was hovering over the older boy's neck. Jaime smiled at the sight. Seeing that Jaime was no longer focused on the topic at hand, Bronn looked over his shoulder and saw Jon in all his glory, beaming at them. Even Bronn had to chuckle at how proud Jon was of himself. "He's good. I'd say he'd beat you, in all your one-handed glory."

"Ha ha," Jaime deadpanned. Bronn's witty little jokes about him having one hand were getting tiring.

"Does your wife know?" Bronn asked him as they walked towards the tiltyard.

"No," Jaime answered woodenly.

"She won't like it," the former mercenary remarked.

"My wife will understand that it's necessary for boys to learn how to use a sword," was his reply. Bronn responded with a disbelieving look. Sighing, Jaime had to admit that he was right. "I'll handle Lyarra. Now, shall we begin?" he asked his son once they had reached him.

Jon nodded eagerly, eyes wide and excited. Bronn sparred with him first. Each time, Jon landed on his arse, laughing heartily. Every time, Jon got up and fought again. When he was Jon's age, Jaime would have stormed off by now. He had always been competitive. He hated losing more than anything. Losing his right hand had humbled him somewhat, but it still stung when he lost to a man who was nowhere near as brilliant as Jaime had been before.

"You're too defensive," Jaime told his son as he tried to block Bronn's attack. "You need to attack more."

"I'm trying!" Jon replied, grinding his teeth in a mixture of concentration and frustration.

That was when Jaime realised Jon had reached his limit. For the sixth time, Jon landed on his arse, only this time he wasn't laughing. Jaime offered him his hand and helped him up. "You'll spar with me now," Jaime suggested. "Come on. Hold up your sword."

Panting heavily, Jon lifted up his sword. Jaime attacked first. He lightly tipped his son's shoulder, but Jon managed to push his sword away quickly. It was difficult fighting with a child. Jaime had to bend his knees to come close to his son's height. Jon warded off most of his attacks, until eventually he became tired and frustrated again. At that point, Jaime decided he'd had enough and allowed Jon to knock his sword out of his hand.

The delight on his son's face made letting him win worth it. Grinning, Jon started to chase Jaime around the courtyard, giggling and screaming and yelling for Jaime to run faster. Jaime let Jon catch him. Jon jumped onto his back and tackled him to the ground, tickling Jaime mercilessly. Jaime hadn't been tickled since he was a child. It felt weird.

Jon's smile became wider as he spotted someone in the distance. "Mother!" he exclaimed excitedly. He climbed off of Jaime and sprinted towards Lyarra. _Shit,_ Jaime thought to himself, the word repeating in his mind a hundred times. This was not a conversation he wanted to have today.

Jaime climbed onto his feet, sharing a heavy look with Bronn. "If you let the little lad win, he'll never learn," Bronn argued.

Huffing, Jaime watched as Lyarra knelt down and brushed dirt off Jon's face. "I let him win once," he replied. "And it will be the last time. I don't want him to get disheartened."

The sellsword tutted and gave Jaime a disapproving look. Jaime imagined that Bronn's training was a lot harsher than the training given to lordlings and young knights of esteemed houses. Tywin was harsh when it came to his studies, but swordfighting was treated as more of a hobby than an obligation.

As he watched his wife speak with Jon, he saw her eyes flicker towards him. He let out a long breath and walked towards her. Immediately, he was greeted with an accusatory tone. "You didn't tell me you were starting to train him."

"Because I knew how you'd react," Jaime responded, raising his eyebrows knowingly. "Unreasonably."

Lyarra glowered at him. "He's four years old, Jaime. Why does a four year old need to use a sword?"

"The earlier they start training, the better," he told her. "I started training when I was five. Jon is taller than I was."

"Jon also had an injury to his head. I told you what happened and what Creylen said. If anything else happens to him..."

"It won't," Jaime assured her, his voice firm and sure. He was so careful with him. He and Bronn never went near his head, and the master-at-arms had warned any of his young sparring partners of his injury. Lyarra's expression remained unchanged and unimpressed. Jaime sighed. "He enjoys it, Lyarra. I don't see the harm."

She rolled her eyes at him and huffed. "Of course you wouldn't," she said snidely.

Jaime narrowed his eyes at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know _exactly_ what I mean," she replied hotly. "You're not exactly known for thinking things through."

He shook his head at her. He had tried to be patient with her. She wasn't in her right mind, he reminded himself. She was stressed and sad and temperamental, but sometimes she just went too far. Even before she had Tygett, Lyarra often neglected to know her limits. He pressed his lips together, determined not to lose his temper."That's not fair," he gritted out.

Lyarra scoffed again. "Isn't it? He could hurt himself. He's four years old and with a severe head injury! He's barely able to hold a sword let alone use it."

"You're over-reacting, as always," Jaime accused. Lyarra looked away from him, her face becoming pinched and irritated. "Jon is my son. He is learning how to fight now because I see he's ready for it. I'll hear no more of this."

He walked away before he lost control of his temper. He could feel her glaring at his back and had no doubt that there was some cruel, witty insult dancing on the tip of her tongue. Had he been the man he was a few years ago, he wouldn't be entertaining her hot temper and wilfulness. Perhaps his life would be easier too. But he was no longer that man and he didn't want to become him again.

Across the tiltyard, he saw a skinny, dainty man rushing towards him. He walked over to the maester, hearing footsteps following close behind him. "What is it?" he asked Creylen.

"Genna..." he trailed off. Jaime noticed that he looked older and more weary. "Lady Genna's dead, my lord. She started coughing. There was blood everywhere... and then she just... fell asleep. She was peaceful, my lord. It was a peaceful death. There was nothing I could do."

Jaime rushed passed him, knocking into his shoulder as he ran to his aunt's bedroom. He found Kevan there, standing over Genna's pale, sickly body. Jaime swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He heard Lyarra beside him, taking in a sharp breath at the sight of his hand. She placed a hand on his shoulder. Jaime could only stare at his aunt's dead body, feeling cold and empty. First his son, then his father, then his aunt... who was next?

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So... Genna's dead, and her death affects the Lannisters in a lot of ways, not just grief. In the next chapter, we'll be seeing Cersei again and Jaime will go to King's Landing for Tommen's wedding. Basically, things will be going downhill again. Don don donnnn

For anyone who is interested, I've updated the Silver Queen as well. I've been busy!

Let me know what you think!


	29. The Test of Power

**The Test of Power**

They had spent hours sitting around Genna's bed where her corpse lay, eyes fixed lifelessly to the ceiling. Lyarra had eventually become restless and decided that there was too much for her to do, and that uselessly sitting by her dead mentor's corpse was wasting time.

If she didn't think about it, she wouldn't upset herself. Lyarra chose instead to have Maester Creylen write letters to Genna's husband and children. Since they were Freys, she vehemently refused to do so herself, but they were her family and thus, had a right to know of her passing.

Lyarra sat in the solar that was once Tywin Lannister's – that was now meant to be Jaime's. She searched through the drawers, looking for anything to distract herself from what had just happened. She found working with numbers always managed to draw her out of her head for a little while.

She must have spent hours drawing out accounts. They were well-made and accurate, but useless. Each account was just a variation of the last. If the last account predicted a low amount of income from tax, the next one would predict a large amount of income. She even made out an account for if a famine swiped through the westerlands, leaving them without food – and she calculated the cost of importing from the Free Cities if Highgarden was to be hit by famine as well. In the wee hours of the morning, her head was working on overdrive and she found herself clinging onto any source of distraction.

With numbers whirling around in her head, Lyarra felt her forehead hit the desk as she fell into a deep slumber.

"Lyarra?" she heard a distant voice say. Her body was being shaken. "Lyarra?" the voice said again, and this time she recognised to be Jaime's. She woke up with a start and jumped away from him. He chuckled at her. "What have you been doing?" he asked, looking at the accounts. "Are we expecting a famine?" His eyes scanned the page further as Lyarra rubbed her eyes groggily. He raised an eyebrow in amusement. "And Highgarden too? Are these accounts or premonitions?"

She snatched the page from him and placed it back on the table, giving him a dirty look. "Obviously both," she deadpanned. "What time is it?"

"Almost sunrise," he replied. "You should get some sleep."

"I just got some," she responded with a sarcastic smirk. She stretched her back, resulting in it cracking noisily and disgustingly.

"In an actual bed. Come on."

Rolling her eyes, Lyarra stood up and did as she was told. Jaime led her to her bedroom – which was solely hers since Tyg's birth. Still clad in her dress and even her corset, Lyarra got into bed and tugged at the strings of her corset.

"She was very fond of you, you know," Jaime told her, sitting at the edge of the bed. "After my father died and Tyrion's... escape, she said you were the Lannister's only hope. I suppose that says a lot about me."

"When my father died, Genna comforted me for hours. She could be so cutting and cruel, and yet so kind and caring when she needed to be. I hate that Jon and Tygett will never get to know her," she lamented, choking on suppressed sobs.

"I do too," Jaime admitted. "But we'll tell them. Just as we'll tell them about your father and brothers and everyone else that we've lost. All the good ones, anyway."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Lyarra's face. "I think we should hold off telling them about the Rains of Castamere for a few more years."

"I think it would make a brilliant bedtime story, actually," Jaime told her, grinning. "And perhaps I ought to warn them about the ghost of Tywin Lannister that lurks along the halls – "

"Stop it, Jaime," she chided him, laughing as she whacked his shoulder. He laughed with her. Even though they'd both lost someone they cared about, Jaime and Lyarra were somehow the most content with each other than they were in a long time.

"You should get some sleep," he told her finally, and patted her blanket-clothed leg as he stood up. "Goodnight, Lyarra."

"Goodnight, Jaime," she replied, a smile on her lips as she watched him leave the room.

* * *

Genna Lannister – for she was never truly a Frey – was buried in the crypts beside her father and brothers. Her wormy husband Emmon Frey had argued that she belonged in the Twins, where he would one day be buried, but Jaime and Kevan swiftly silenced him and reminded him of his place. Lyarra was delighted with that. The arrival of a flock of Freys made her anxious and enraged, and she enjoyed seeing a Frey get put in his place – by her husband, no less.

As they walked up the stairs towards the Great Hall, Lyarra overheard Emmon Frey speaking to Jaime yet again.

"The Blackfish still hasn't surrendered. The keep is impenetrable, my lord. Without more reinforcements..."

"We've given you enough reinforcements," Jaime snapped back at him.

Lyarra looked up in surprise at that. As far as she was aware, Jaime didn't take part in any of his duties, including warfare. Lyarra realised that he had purposely been keeping that from her. Her fists clenched by her sides, and her suspicions were proven true when Jaime glanced back at her worriedly, a frown on his face.

"Your lord father swore to us that in return for..." Frey glanced back at her, just as Jaime had, and lowered his voice, " _the Red Wedding_ , he would ensure that House Frey would become the lords of Riverrun. As his son, you have inherited that pledge, on your honour." Emmon Frey must have become worried by Jaime's reaction, as he started to stutter. "I m-mean no offense, Lord Jaime, but I m-must insist – "

"You just buried your wife, Lord Emmon. My beloved aunt," Jaime reminded him. "We will speak no further of this today."

The Frey's mouth became pinched with dissatisfaction. "As you wish, my lord," he replied and left in a huff.

Once the wormy lord was gone, Jaime turned around to her, a regretful look on his face. Lyarra knew him well enough to know that he wasn't ashamed at all of what he'd done, only regretful that she had found out. "Lyarra – " he started, but Lyarra had no desire to hear his stupid explanation.

" _Don't_ ," she interrupted him, and rushed passed him to the Great Hall.

Despite being seated beside him, Lyarra managed to avoid her husband for most of the night. She knew he was loyal to his family, _to Cersei_ , even above his loyalty to her, but she never expected that he would support the family that murdered hers in such a dishonourable way. Even though he was the Kingslayer, Lyarra thought he had some semblance of honour left in him, enough to not support the murderous, dishonourable leeches that were House Frey.

And so, Lyarra spent the night moving from table to table, starting conversations with noblemen and women that she recognised. She noticed that Jaime was doing the same, which surprised her. Usually he bailed out of these things as soon as he could.

Perhaps he had taken an interest in his kingdom once again, and he was trying to faze her out. Lyarra had learned enough from her mother to know that a woman's duty was not to rule, but to raise her children, and Casterly Rock was Jaime's birthright, not hers. It felt like a slap in the face, though, to have been overburdened – while with child – with the duties her husband shirked, only to be pushed aside when he took a fancy to leadership.

She was putting herself in a bad mood, she realised, just as she saw Lady Crakehall at another table. She bid goodbye to the lord she had been speaking to and went over to the woman's table. "Lady Crakehall," she greeted. "Thank you for coming."

"Lady Genna and I were close as children," she relayed. Lyarra noticed the woman's frosty complexion. "I could not miss her burial."

Lyarra nodded in understanding. "May I sit?" she asked, and the lady nodded in confusion. "I see your husband has not come."

"My lord husband is still... dismayed with your decision to make Lord Damon the Lord of Crakehall over our Tybolt, and then with your lord husband's insistence that the decree was not be challenged," Lady Crakehall replied carefully.

When Genna told her that naming Damon the heir would be a massive mistake, she had thought the consequences would last a few years at most, not this long. Lyarra gave the lady a polite smile as she thought over her words, desiring to rectify the situation and placate at least one powerful westerlands house.

Then, a brilliant idea popped into her head, and a grin spread across her lips.

"Lady Crakehall, tell me, do you have any daughters?"

Lady Crakehall blinked in surprise at the sudden question. "I do, my lady. Two. Iselda and Celia."

"And what ages are your daughters?"

"Iselda is twenty-one and Celia is seventeen."

"Are they married or promised to anyone?"

"Well, Iselda is married, but Celia is not married nor promised to anyone. I fear trying, to be honest. She's quite the wilful creature," Lady Crakehall clarified, a wistful smile on her face as she told Lyarra about her daughters.

"Do you think your husband would be placated if I promised an advantageous match for your Celia? I know it will not entirely make up for what's been done, but it might mend some old wounds," she explained.

"You wish to marry Celia to Damon Serrett," Lady Crakehall surmised.

"Yes," she answered. "It would end the warring between your families and it would be an advantageous match, since Lord Serrett is one of the richest men in the westerlands. I know you would prefer your son to be Lord of Silverhill, but what's done is done and I cannot change that now. But allow me to do right by your house."

Lady Crakehall frowned, her brows furrowed in thought as she mulled over Lyarra's offer. Finally, the lady nodded. "I make no promises, but I shall ask my husband."

Lyarra smiled at her and placed her hand on top of Lady Crakehall's, giving it a slight squeeze. "I cannot ask for more." She stood to leave, but Lady Crakehall grabbed her wrist to keep her in place.

"But I must ask you one last question, my lady," the woman said. "Will this Damon Serrett definitely agree to the match? If I mention this to my husband and Damon Serrett is not in agreement, I fear this proposal might fuel the feud, rather than quell it."

"He will agree," Lyarra promised her. "You have my word that he will."

Not looking very convinced, Lady Crakehall released Lyarra's wrist and looked away from her. Lyarra took that as her cue to leave and walked away from the woman. Across the hall, she saw Lord Lefford speaking with Jaime. Lyarra narrowed her eyes at them. She had told Jaime everything, and yet here he was – chatting amicably with the man who would have left their son to die rather than have his maester treat him.

But then, Jaime did something that both surprised and delighted Lyarra. He whacked the repugnant lord across the face with his golden hand, so hard that Lefford fell onto the ground. And there he lay for quite some time before anyone bothered to help him up.

Lyarra felt a grin spread itself across her face. She straightened her expression before anyone could see it, and revelled in how Lord Lefford roared and kicked as Lannister guards dragged him from the Great Hall.

Her desire to avoid Jaime far-outweighed her desire to find out what happened. In truth, Lyarra could guess what happened – Lefford made unreasonable demands and Jaime was unable to handle them with a witty response, and so he spoke the only he knew how to, by violence.

She went to her chambers and sat at her vanity to take out all her hairpins and her earrings. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. For the first time since Tygett was born, there was fire in her eyes – a fire she hadn't realised was gone until now.

Once she had taken off all her jewellery and hairpins, Lyarra went to see her son in the adjoining nursery. He was in the arms of a maid, and Lyarra gently took her son from the maid and rocked him, cooing softly at her child.

She heard the door open and close, but did not look up until she heard Jaime's voice. "You avoided me all night," Jaime accused her, his tone even.

"So I did," Lyarra admitted, placing Tygett in his crib and pulling his blanket over him. "And _you_ seemed to have forgot to mention that there Lannister soldiers aiding the Freys in taking _my family's keep_!"

Tygett squirmed in his sleep because of Lyarra's raised voice, and so she decided to take this argument into her room.

"My father made a promise," Jaime reminded her. "Dishonourable or not, I have to keep that promise as his heir. I sent the reinforcements that he asked for, and I will likely send more."

"And when was this done?" Lyarra asked. "When did you give the order?"

Jaime frowned at her. "A fortnight after I got back."

"Oh, so you were well able to send reinforcements to attack my mother's home and all too happy to leave everything else to me," Lyarra snapped at him, her face becoming tight with anger.

"Is that what this is about? You can't pretend you don't enjoy running things. I've seen you. You revel in it – "

"It's everything, Jaime," she all but growled. "It's how you feel as though you have the right to pick and choose what responsibilities you have, and leave me to pick up the pieces. It's how you went _behind my back_ and sent an army to siege Riverrun. You weren't even man enough to tell me!"

"I didn't tell you because I knew that you'd react like this. You have never been able to comprehend that _we are House Lannister_ , and in this war, we fight for House Lannister. House Lannister made a promise to House Frey, and whatever your personal feelings are on the matter, they are irrelevant."

"They killed my family," Lyarra reminded him, as though he could forget. She was horrified that he would suggest such a thing – that she should just forget how House Frey slaughtered her family while they were under the protection of guest right. She would never forget, and she would never forgive.

Jaime sighed. "Yes, they did, and it was wrong and dishonourable, but Walder Frey did it under my father's orders. And now it is my responsibility to see to it that my father's promise is kept, whether you like it or not."

Lyarra wasn't someone who could be easily shocked into silence. She usually had some sort of comment on the tip of her tongue. But Jaime had shocked, with his words and how callously he said them, like her loss – her need for revenge and her hatred of the Freys – wasn't important or justified. Like he didn't care.

She stood there, her mouth slightly agape, before she pressed her lips together and turned away from him. She heard her walking away, and then she heard the door opening and closing behind him. Lyarra sat down on the edge of the bed, and for the first time since she left King's Landing, she felt completely and utterly alone.

Over the last few days, she had refused to cry. She was strong. She had lost enough people to be hardened, as much so as any man. But it all hit her now. She had no one, no one but her children. She was Cersei. Lyarra almost laughed, because for once, she actually understood Cersei – and she understood how this kind of loneliness could turn to madness and cruelty.

But wallowing in loneliness was not Lyarra Stark. When she became sad, she found something to keep her busy – a distraction. She needed a distraction. Lyarra stood up and threw her cloak over her shoulders, marching to the stables with a determined look on her face.

"You two," she said as she passed two guards standing outside the barracks. "You are going to accompany."

"My lady, its passed sundown – "

"I know what time it is," she snapped back, opening the side-door to the stables. "Grab a horse each. We're going to Silverhill."

She saddled a horse and climbed on top of it, becoming irritated by the guards' slowness. "Well, hurry on, men. What are you waiting for?"

"My lady, does Lord Lannister know about this?" the other one asked, looking up at her dumbly.

Lyarra rolled her eyes. "I am going to tell you that he does, and if he asks you, you'll tell him that I lied to you and I will not speak against that. Do we have an understanding?" The guards looked at each other in worry. As though on cue, Fang walked out of the shadows, growling at the guards who dared question her mistress. Lyarra chuckled. "Fang despises disloyalty. So, what will it be?"

Terrified of her direwolf, the guards nodded in agreement. "Yes, my lady," one of them said.

"Good. Come on then."

* * *

It took them all night to ride to Silverhill, and unlike her guards, Lyarra wasn't tired in the slightest. Spite kept her awake. She heard the saying that there was nothing worse than a woman scorned, and perhaps this was what the saying meant. Lyarra wanted to show Jaime that he couldn't faze her out. Maybe she was being childish – and spiteful, but she was sure of that by now – but it felt good to exercise some power again.

Lord Damon Serrett was in his nightgown when he greeted her. Lyarra waited for him as he got dressed before they commenced negotiations – negotiations which Damon Serrett didn't realise they were going to have.

When he greeted her again, it was with an arrogant smirk and a mischievous spark in his eyes. "The lovely Lady Lannister!" he greeted boisterously. "How I missed you're company. You've noticed that I put an end to that nasty business with Crakehall."

"You mean that you used House Lannister's army to win your war," Lyarra corrected firmly. Damon's face fell. "And I'm here to ensure that no further disputes take place."

"Ah, I see," Damon replied, the grin firmly planted on his face once again. "And does your lord husband know you're here my lady?"

Lyarra stiffened. "Why is everyone so concerned with Lord Lannister? As much as this may surprise you, he does not control my every move."

"You are every husbands' nightmare," Damon off-handedly commented. "No offense, of course."

She blinked at that, surprised at his bluntness. Lyarra supposed she was. Wives were meant to be obedient and wait for instruction by their husbands, even northern ones. But Lyarra had been given many freedoms in the last few years, so much so that she forgot what role she was meant to play as a lord's wife, and she didn't care much for remembering.

"How could that possibly offend me?" Lyarra sarcastically asked, giving the man a saccharine smile as she moved towards the bookshelves. She traced her finger along the bindings as she read their titles. "Your library is far greater than the one we had at Winterfell."

"And Casterly Rock?"

She flashed him a grin. "Nothing is better than Casterly Rock. Not even King's Landing."

He watched her with interest. "I've never seen it."

"And you shouldn't. The sight of it ruins the imagination. You expect some might, beautiful structure and what you get is foul-smelling, inferior keep. Of course, I do think seeing Casterly Rock first ruined it for me. Nothing can beat a massive keep built out of a cliff," she explained. As much as she loved Winterfell, it paled in comparison to Casterly Rock. Nowhere was lovelier nor as grand. But it wasn't home. Lyarra had began to think it never would be.

"You came here to tell me how we're going to prevent another war," Damon reminded her, seeing that her mind had drifted off to somewhere else.

Lyarra blinked in surprise and forced herself to think of the more important matter at hand. "Oh, yes. Of course." She straightened herself and cleared her throat. "I spoke with Lady Crakehall about a marriage proposal. Between you... and one of her daughters." His face quickly grew taught with shock and anger. Lyarra quickly continued speaking, attempting to calm him. "Her name is Celia and she is one of the most beautiful women in the westerlands, I'm told. And she's fierce too and wilful. Just your type, I think – " She was about to ramble on when Damon interrupted her.

"You think you can just order me around and force me to do your bidding?"

"Yes. I do, actually," Lyarra insisted, raising her chin. She was not one to grovel. "This marriage will usher in peace between you and the Crakehalls. Lord Crakehall will agree, if his wife has anything to say about it. The only variable in this is you, Lord Damon."

Damon's blue eyes narrowed at her in a fierce glare, all trace of a smirk gone from his face. Lyarra stiffened. "You have no right to demand this of me! I am a lord! It is my right to choose who I will marry!"

"You are a lord because I made you so," Lyarra reminded him, attempting to straighten up so she seemed taller than she was. She spoke to him in a low, cold voice that seemed to shake even him. "I can just as easily unmake you. Don't forget that."

He flinched and stepped back from her a little. Lyarra glared at him, awaiting his response. He would either do as she bid, or lash out at her and demand she leave, and all would be lost. Despite her threats, she couldn't unmake him. His unmaking would be hers, since the decision to make him a lord was the decision that had come to define her. She couldn't back down now.

"Does your husband know about this?" was his response.

"Not yet," Lyarra stated. "I thought to surprise him. He's been so troubled with the situation between you and Crakehall. I had thought to rectify it on my own and ease some of the burden on him." She smiled sweetly at him, but the former bastard didn't buy it.

"He doesn't have a clue, does he?" Damon said, that familiar smirk reappearing on his face. "You're doing this behind his back. But why? Not out of love, obviously. You've proven to you before that you don't love him," His face became suggestive. Even during an argument, Damon still had the nerve to flirt with her. "So why? You could be in your pretty little castle right now, embroidering your lovely children doublets and blankets and whatnot."

Lyarra grimaced, but looked at the man evenly as though he hadn't affected her. "As much as I do enjoy embroidering... _doublets_ , sometimes I decide to aid my family, in whatever way I can."

"And you're quite proficient in it, aren't you? Diplomacy, negotiating... you, who brought Lord Lefford to his knees, you're not one to step into the sidelines when you're no longer needed. Oh no, you enjoy power. You _need_ it. Perhaps it gives you a purpose." Lyarra couldn't hide her true feelings anymore. He was right. He was completely right. "You're not made to be a doting mother, cooped inside a nursery, just as Jaime Lannister is not made to be a lord – "

"You would do well not to insult your liege lord in the presence of his wife," Lyarra found her voice to remind him of that. Truthfully, she was tired of his accusations, especially since every one was at least somewhat right.

"You know you would do a better job, so you forcefully involve yourself in matters to prove you're useful. And that's why you're here, isn't it? To prove that the westerlands – that Jaime Lannister – needs you."

Lyarra felt pathetic. What had happened to her? Somewhere along the way, she fell in love with power. Her father and mother would hate to see her like this, not because she was a woman – but her lady mother might have something to say about that – but because she became corrupted by same thing all southerners too... by their love of power, by their _greed_.

She swallowed her pride and walked closer to Damon Serrett, who was grinning at her like he had just discovered her greatest secret. "Perhaps you're right," she admitted. "But that doesn't change the fact that you have a duty to ensure the safety of your people. You are shirking your duty if you dismiss an opportunity for peace. Marry the girl."

Damon smirked at her. "Fine."

At that, Lyarra flinched in complete and utter shock. She had expected anger like before, not smug agreement. "Fine?" she repeated, as though it was a question.

"Fine," he shrugged. "You say she looks agreeable."

"I've heard she's quite beautiful," Lyarra replied, still not quite believing how easy it had been.

"Then I'll marry her. I trust you'll make the arrangements."

"Of course I will," Lyarra promised. "I'll write to Lady Crakehall tonight."

The lord nodded his head. "Then so be it. I trust you can see yourself out."

She was too overjoyed to care that Lord Serrett was being unmannerly in rushing her out. She had expected him to be mad – very few men would be happy about being ordered to marry someone – but Lyarra hadn't expected him to analyse her like that, as though she was but an open book to him. She felt vulnerable. Did everyone think she was so pathetic?

* * *

Lyarra had barely taken off her cloak when Jaime barged into her room, with a face that could make a man drop dead in fear. Lyarra flinched when she saw him and backed away, until stubbornness encouraged her to stand still. After all, she had done nothing wrong. If anything, she did a good thing.

"You've took off in the middle of the night without telling anyone, and you don't even have anything to say?"

She hung her cloak on its hanger and turned back around to face him. "I sorted out the Crakehall dispute."

Jaime looked at her oddly. Lyarra could see that she had surprised him. He recovered quickly though, and shot back at her, "The one you started to begin with?"

"That's exactly the one," she clarified. "They do say it's a woman's job to clean up messes, and that's what I did."

"If you wouldn't mind telling me what in Seven Hells did you do, that would be brilliant," her husband scathingly replied as he struggled to keep a hold of his temper.

"Lord Serrett is going to get married. To Crakehall's daughter," she explained perkily, though Jaime's face did not reflect any semblance of happiness as his eyes narrowed at her. "Oh, come on. Don't be so glum. I took a bit of initiative. The problem is sorted. All is well."

"And you did exactly what you were so mad with me for doing," Jaime accused. "You went behind my back and did something you knew I wouldn't be happy with."

Lyarra placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him. "And why wouldn't you be happy about this? I stopped another stupid siege. How do you warp that into being a bad thing, Jaime?"

"Because you did it mere hours after our argument, so it was obviously meant to spite me. Because a lord's wife is not meant to negotiate on his behalf without his knowledge. Do you have any idea how it makes me look?"

"Like your wife's a genius who took some initiative," Lyarra tried.

Jaime ran his hand down his face in frustration in an attempt to calm himself. "You're acting like a child, Lyarra."

It had been years since he called her a child. Before he left for war, even. For some reason, it affected her a little more than it should. "No, Jaime. You're the one acting like a child. A child whose pride has been wounded!"

"Pride? You think this is pride?" Jaime asked, his voice taking on a sarcastic and biting tone. "Oh, Lyarra, this has nothing to do with pride. I told you what the westerlands are like. What happened to my grandfather. If my bannermen perceive me to be weak, they'll take advantage of it. I can't have a wife who runs around doing whatever she likes!"

"Why in Seven Hells not? You obviously do!" she shouted back at him. Her own temper had flared as well, and she felt herself being blinded by it.

"Not anymore," Jaime stated, shaking his head firmly. "From now on, I will be in charge of the westerlands, without your interference. This is the last matter you will have any influence on. You will organise this wedding, and that will be that. And I'll be hiring a steward too."

At first, Lyarra felt as though he'd slapped her. As though all the time and effort she'd put into ruling his home had been for nothing. But then, she felt only anger. She scoffed and walked passed him. He grabbed her arm to stop her. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Away from _you_ ," she growled.

"You know what Lord Lefford said to me at the feast last night?" he asked her. Lyarra shook her head, pursing her lips into an angry frown. "He wanted me to lower his taxes, and then he demanded that we continue our investment as we always had. And then I realised that he'd become senile, but he kept going _on and on._ He demanded to marry one of my cousins since his wife died in childbirth just a fortnight ago. And then... he started insulting you. He demanded I string you up and burn you as a traitor. And then I hit him. He went asleep last night and he hasn't woken up since."

"Why are you telling me this?" Lyarra asked, realising he must have some motive.

His eyes became softer as his grip on her arm loosened. "Because you seem to think I don't give a damn about you. That I keep trying to hurt you in some way or another. But I'm not, Lyarra. I'm not your enemy."

 _Then who is?_ She asked herself, but allowed the words to die on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she nodded meekly and pulled away from him, rushing out of the room before she said anything she would regret.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I am so so so so so sorry! I can't believe its been a year! I kept trying to write this chapter, but life kept getting in the way. I have big exams this year and there were bereavements in my family, so I haven't had much time to do anything except study. But I'm back! And I would like to sadly admit that there's a chance I won't be updating until June if I don't update again within the next week. I'm on holidays this week, and then the next term is the last before my exams so I'll be doing nothing but studying I'm afraid.

This chapter had a lot of Jaime/Lyarra scenes, and a whole lot of angst. There's a lot of distance between them after everything and Lyarra's becoming a bit dark, I have to admit, but she'll get better. And she's also comparing herself a lot to Cersei at the minute, which I think is the pinnacle of self-awareness and can only lead to healthy character growth. I've also decided to alter my original plan for the next few chapters. I lost interest in this story partly because I hated where I was going with it so I decided to change a few things, which then resulted in a lot of changes. So I hope you enjoy what I have in store!

I apologise if there are any mistakes. Its really late and I just wanted to get this chapter out.


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